DN - Aftershock
by A.Vehuel.A
Summary: Something changes. Light has to make a difficult decision, and leave his life and L behind. Warnings: AU, OOCness, Mpreg. (The title might change)
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** ok, this was previously a dream.

Of course, dreams are messy vicious things, so I woke up, drowned something like three cups of coffee, and got to work. I don't know if continue this, or leave it like that.

I'd like to know your opinions.

Anyway, there might be mistakes, English is not my first language so…

Enjoy!

* * *

Rivalries are fun. They make your brain work, your blood stream faster in your veins, and adrenaline flood your entire being until all you can think of is the desire to win, to succeed.

Other kids were so serious and boring. They behaved like 70 years old men, thinking that the competition going on in that Institute meant their entire life.

Well, in a certain way, they were right.

But Light wasn't fooled. He and L were the number ones, the two teenagers competing for the title of Greatest Detective. And he didn't have the chance to win, regardless of his academic performance. Mr. Wammy, the ultimate judge, hated his guts. He didn't know why. Maybe because he kept breaking rules all around, sneaking out of the orphanage to visit his old friend Mikami in the near town, or maybe the way he came there, covered in the blood of his family, his eyes strangely cold despite his tender eleven years of age. From that day, he was known as Kira. It was Wammy's idea of a bad joke, since Kira was the Japanese (his original nationality) pronunciation of the word 'killer'. Light scoffed at the thought. It's not like he killed anyone. He wanted to become a detective in order to find out what really happened to his family that many years ago. But with time he started to accept the idea that he would remain in the dark.

Anyway, he had his fun. He charmed staff and kids alike, he waltzed through his exams and tests, and studied medicine with Mikami, who wanted to become a doctor. Something about the joy of saving lives or whatever.

His greatest fun, however, derived from the other boy, the weird guy who would become the Greatest Detective.

L.

What a strange name.

And it was his real one too. The other told him while they were under the covers, tired and sticky and covered in semen and other bodily fluids. It was only fair, since L was one of the three people in England to know his real name.

Yeah. Because with rivalries, comes tension, and what better way there was to relieve stress than having sex with the source of said stress? It didn't matter that personal relationship were prohibited, or that they were both guys, or that they were supposed to hate the other's guts. They screwed each other, and it was glorious. Light often ached for days, and hated chairs with passion, but he wouldn't give this up for the world.

Or so he thought.

* * *

It began in April.

Light and L shared a room, under the latter insistence, and their relationship, if so could be called, was going smoothly. They fucked, they fought, and they connected in ways that no other human being could understand. Equals in brain and maturity, they complimented each other. They were a team, and, in a certain way, loved each other. Not that they would tell the other. Oh no. Prideful beings till death, they were.

Anyway, in that cursed month of April, things changed.

* * *

Light woke, and launched himself out of bed, getting caught in the sheets and tumbling to the ground, banging his left knee hard on the marble floor. Ignoring the injury, he crawled quickly toward the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light. His destination reached, he barely had the time to breathe before he started puking. Fucking hell, he thought, feeling the bile burn his throat and flow through his mouth, making him gag more at the taste. He heaved, bent in two over the sacred bowl of salvation, until all he was spitting was saliva. He breathed, long and deep, trying to ignore the dreadful smell coming from in front of him, and, when he was certain his stomach was empty and kind of settled, flushed the toilet, moving shakily to his feet.

He looked horrible, he contemplated at his reflection. His hair was messy, he had bags under his eyes and his skin was pasty and pale. Washing his teeth, he tried to think about what he had eaten the day before, but nothing peculiar or strange came to his mind. He always tried to eat healthily, unlike his partner, who only ate his damn sweets and pastries. Just thinking of the smell almost made him reach for the toilet again.

Twenty minutes later, completely clean and feeling a little better, he exited the bathroom, a towel swung over his hips for a little modesty.

L was perched over the desk's chair, looking at the laptop's screen with his owlish stare. When Light entered the room he turned around, his eyes roaming over the other in search of any evident injury, before speaking.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice blank but worry evident in his normally impassive eyes.

Light tried to smile, but what he managed was more of a grimace. "I'm fine" he kind of lied, going towards the wardrobe.

He would be proved wrong.

* * *

He couldn't do it anymore.

He didn't show it, not even to L, but he was worried.

Three months. Three months of puking every morning, of being moody and snappy and horny all at the same time.

Three months of hunger like never before.

He had never been hungry in his life. He ate at the same hours, three times a day, healthy meals complete with everything.

Those three months shattered his metabolism. He was always hungry. At night he woke up in the darkness and had to go in the kitchen, to eat like an animal, crouched down in front of the fridge, its light the only font of illumination in the entire room.

L, mysteriously, didn't comment on those events. Maybe he felt it wasn't his business, and in a way it wasn't. But in his own way L was there, embracing Light when the other wanted a cuddle and keeping his distance when he was in a psychotic mood.

But Light was tired. He had gained weight, but not the amount he expected, and was so dreadfully _tired_. So one afternoon, when everyone else was busy, he sneaked out of the Institute, heading for the near town.

* * *

He waited in the shade of an oak, leaning against the metal fence behind him.

Half an hour later, the doors of the university opened, and a steady and crowed stream of students came out. Mikami spotted him almost immediately, that spot being his usual to wait for the other, and smiled at him.

They greeted each other, exchanging pleasantries, until Light explained the reason he was there.

Mikami grew serious the more he listened, and leaded Light to one of the laboratories, white and sterile and equipped with expensive machineries.

The first thing they did was a complete blood exam, and while they waited the results Mikami examined Light, flashing a torchlight in his pupils and checking his temperature and pressure.

The machine pinged and Mikami read the charts on the screen, the worried crease between his eyebrows deepening the more he went on. He sighed worriedly, sliding his glasses up his nose in a nervous gesture, and then tried to think.

"What's wrong?" asked Light, trying – and failing, he was majoring in Criminology, thank you very much – to read the mysterious answer.

"There's something wrong with the production of hormones, especially progesterone. I'd like to give you an echography, are you ok with that?"

Light frowned, moving automatically toward one of the medical beds on one side of the room. Every time he studied with Mikami he tried to pay attention to the medical notions the other talked about, but he inevitably found his attention drift elsewhere. He was more interested in poisons and things like that, but hormones? He only knew the basic biology things about them, those studied in one of the mandatory classes at Wammy's, and, if he remembered correctly, an high level of progesterone in a male was… unheard of.

He stretched on the bed, automatically taking off his shirt and lying on his front, back to the air.

"I will first analyze your kidneys, since the progesterone is produced by them. Is the gel too cold?" Mikami asked, pouring the cold stuff on his lower back. Light murmured a negative answer, finding the coolness soothing in that damp day of June. "Let's see…"

The machinery made a few odd noises, while projecting a semi clear image of Light's kidneys on the screen. Mikami watched keenly, and appeared more worried.

"Did you find anything?" Light asked, feeling him remove the transducer from his back and wipe off the goo.

"That's the point; I didn't find anything, and I expected to find something that could explain the dysfunction, like a cyst. Let me see your abdomen."

Lying down on his back, Light shuddered this time, feeling the cool goo touch his belly and soil his higher pubic hairs. He felt a strange sense of foreboding, and tried to calm down taking a deep breath.

Mikami stayed silent, his expression turning serious and kind of incredulous.

"What?" Light asked, feeling anxious.

The answer shattered every certainty in his life.

* * *

Light and Mikami watched blankly the roof of the latter's apartment, trying to make sense of the last revelations.

"Are you sure…?" asked Light, trying to keep the hysteria out of his voice.

"I'm no obstetrician, but I studied pregnancies, and the sack in your abdomen looked exactly like a textbook placenta, with its own fetus inside."

Light stayed silent, trying not to panic.

A baby.

There was a tiny little human being growing inside his body, and it shouldn't even be possible! He was a male, for God's sake.

He closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose and breathing out from his mouth. But the tight feeling in his chest didn't disappear, crushing his breath inside his lungs. He strangely felt a strange itching in his nose, and eyelids fill with tears.

He didn't know what to do. He was 16! He wasn't ready to be a father; he didn't even know it was possible for a male to give life in that way! He wanted a future working to catch criminals, to bring Justice to the world. He wanted…

It didn't matter what he wanted, did it? He had to figure this out, that care of this baby and move the hell out of Wammy's.

Because he wasn't going to kill a son of his, no matter how freakish his gestation was. And he couldn't live in the Institute. If they found out, he would be locked up, experimented on, and who knows what else. Mr. Wammy hated him, and would see this pregnancy as an abomination, and…

L!

He sat up suddenly, ignoring the slight dizziness and vertigo, feeling again the panic trying to crawl up his throat.

L was the father. There was no doubt there, because the guy had been his first – and his only for that matter. What would he think?

He tried to imagine the dark haired boy finding out of his pregnancy, of his male roommate carrying his offspring… He nearly whimpered, curling on himself, deaf to the soothing whispers in his ears of a worried Mikami.

He didn't think L as cruel, or as a bad human being. But he made clear at the beginning of their affair that all that wasn't serious, that it was just a way to release a normal hormonal tension. Of course, that was more than two years before, and their fondness for each other had increased, but there was that. The fact that none of them had spoken up and talked about their feelings. Now Light didn't know for sure the real nature of L's feelings for him, or their depth, and a baby inside a male womb…

L would reject him for sure. He was 18, after all, and not ready for any of this. And Light would become a lab rat, and his baby… would become a freak.

He refused. He wouldn't let any child of his be mistreated.

So he had to go away. That was a certainty now. Where, he didn't know, but far away, in another continent, somewhere cold but not too much…

A hot cup of something was shoved in his hands, making him resurface from his troubled thoughts. The kind face of Mikami appeared in front of him, his friend seated on the floor near him, showing his support to the teen. Light closed his eyes and inhaled the subtle scent coming from the cup in his hands. Earl Grey Tea, his favorite. That bought a shaky smile on his lips, and he looked at his friend, gratitude shining in his golden eyes.

"Keeping all things bottled up inside that body isn't good for you, mate. Just talk to me, ok?"

"Sorry" Light took a sip, letting the comforting taste soothe his worries, at least for that moment.

They remained silent for a while, slowly draining their cups, and Light melted into the couch.

All the things happened that day caught up with him, and he didn't even notice his eyes slowly closing, or Mikami taking the cup from his hands, or being rearranged better on the sofa.

With a tired sigh, he was asleep.

* * *

He slipped in his room at half past three in the morning, cursing himself in his head for sleeping so long and Mikami for letting him sleep, using the excuse of him 'being pregnant'.

The room was dark, the only source of light the glow of L's computer in one corner of the desk. The other genius was nowhere in sight.

Light almost smiled in relief, sitting down on the mattress of his bed – and L's bed, since they had pushed together the two twins almost two years earlier – and removing his shoes. He was peeling his socks from his feet when a warm breath behind him made him jump, scaring him half to death.

He turned around, and found dark glittering orbs staring at him from a pale, pale face, almost luminescent in the dark.

"L!" he hissed, feeling his heart slam against his ribcage from the force of his scare. He then proceeded to discard his other clothes on the floor, feeling too tired to fold them up and put them back in the dresser or the laundry basket.

The other smiled, watching the other bare his golden skin. "Where were you?" he finally asked, moving to the other side of the bed in order to permit the brief removal of sheet.

Light slipped in the bed naked, sighing softly to the feeling of cool cotton on his bare skin. He made himself comfortable, covering his frame halfway, unconsciously concealing his barely rounding abdomen.

"I was with Mikami, helping him for his exams" he answered in the end, smoothly lying. "I fell asleep" he offered, in a sort of apology.

L hummed, watching the other in silence from his perch on the mattress. He had missed the other teen, missed his nearly constant presence beside him, supplying clever intuitions and small jokes. He leaned down, slowly peeling the sheet away from the other, baring him to the lukewarm summer air, and admired him for a second, before settling down on him, careful to not crush him. His lips found a prominent collarbone, and, after licking thoroughly the skin there, started to nibble it. His hands shifted to the boy's hipbones, and then down to the toned thighs, spreading his legs and settling down between them.

Light sighed softly, closing his eyes and enjoying the attention. Part of him wanted to flinch away, protect himself and begin to distance himself from L in light of his imminent departure, but another part of him, a bigger one, had missed the comfort the other genius gave him. He embraced him, sliding his arms around the other shoulders and molding him against his chest.

"I'm tired" murmured in L's ear, trying anyway to take off the other's shirt. He managed it with a little help and tossed the cloth beside them on the bed. He then started working on the jeans.

"We'll make this quick" agreed L, and finally naked he kissed Light's lips, breaching easily the other's mouth, while taking hold of their members.

Both sighed, and L started moving, jerking them both off, his movements quick but not hurried. There was a kind complicity between their bodies, knowledge of pleasure and familiarity. They kissed, they thrust, they sighed and moaned in the dark, their bodies sleek with perspiration. Light caught the other between his thighs, making him move closer. The movements became quicker, more desperate, cocks slick with precum sliding against the other and puffs of strangled breaths against the other's shoulder.

Light came first with a strangled cry, his body taunt and his eyes closed tight, feeling the waves of pleasure overwhelm him, before going boneless against the bed. L was close second, his breath hurried and irregular, his teeth sunken lightly in Light's neck, creating a possessive mark, and emptying himself on the other's belly. He then collapsed on the other, trying to catch back his breath, licking the bite left on the golden throat and resting his forehead on the pillow.

They embraced, tired and satisfied, until L cleaned them both with his dirty shirt. Light rolled to one side, one hand under the pillow and the other on his stomach, and relaxed, feeling the warmth of L's chest settle against his back.

And then they slept.

* * *

The next fortnight was busy. Light attended classes, joked around, tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. Every three days he went to Mikami, bringing to his flat some things he couldn't leave behind when he finally would escape, and at night, after lying to L about some project, he used an encrypted computer in the basement, throwing the basis of the new lives he and Mikami were going to live.

Yeah, Mikami had insisted. He had said that Light needed support, that his medical condition was unknown and he, even without a degree, was more than able to help him. Or see if something went wrong.

Light was torn. On one side, he didn't want his friend to leave his life behind, his friends, his university and his studies. On the other, he really needed that support. Because being male and pregnant wasn't going to be easy. He would be forced to hide, to give birth in some way or another… He shuddered.

Anyway, in the darkness of the early hours of the days he created their new identities, their new (very wealthy) bank accounts, he bought a home. He fabricated IDs, reserved flights, found jobs for both of them.

It had to be done.

And no matter how he tried to cover his trails, he knew that L was suspicious. Light knew that L couldn't even have a close idea of what he was going to do, but the other genius was aware that something big was going on. He even tried to ask Light about it, while they were lying in bed and sleepy, and Light had made him promise not to involve himself. That everything would end well.

What a lie.

Another one who seemed to notice something was Beyond.

L's twin brother had always left Light mostly alone, just giving him an inquisitive look the night he arrived bloody and broken to the Institute's doors. B mostly stayed on his own, the only person he talked to being A, his supposed best friend. Light had always found him mostly friendly, if not a little creepy and not exactly sane, but hadn't really taken the time to know him. He had L, and that was more than enough.

Two months.

Two months that Beyond looked at him with those red eyes of his.

At first, the look had been puzzled, shifting between looking above his head and at his chest. Then, it had become amused, fond, and curious at the same time. Light felt his gaze like a tangible touch on his skin, not in a creepy or perverted way, but more like… a protective feeling.

Beyond and protection weren't two word he was used to put together.

Anyway, everyone left him alone to finish the preparations, and finally, everything was ready.

* * *

The last day was a gloomy one for Light.

He put on a façade of being his usual perfect self; he listened to lectures and made his homework.

But inside he was falling apart. He didn't want to leave the Institute, his home for the past five years. He didn't want to leave _L_.

His chest felt heavy with grief, and his throat was constantly clogged with tears. Talking normally was a difficult feat.

He had almost given up several times, while lying in L's arms, surrounded by his scent. But he had to go.

The most important thing now wasn't his future, or his feelings. Now Light had to think of his baby, the little human being developing in his belly, relying on him for survival. He absently wondered if every mother in the world felt that way. Then he finally understood the things people did for their children.

That last night he waited in the dark, leaving the window open to let the moonlight enter the room. He waited for L, naked as the day he was born, sitting on the edge of their bed. His mind was clear, focused on one aim: to enjoy that last moment with the person he was going to leave behind.

Because the chances of meeting Light again after that night were slim. He couldn't let him know about his child, that little being that the world, if found out, would see as an abomination and a freak. And he couldn't keep contact with him, because if Light heard his voice, or saw his face, he would give in to the instinct to tell him about their little miracle, about what they had created.

The door opened, and L stepped in.

After closing the door, he stopped, almost tasting the air. L seemed to catch some intention, some unvoiced plea of silence, because he just stepped towards Light, shedding his clothes on the floor.

They clashed half way, hungry lips smacking and smothering, tongues chasing each other. L closed his arms around Light's waist, and Light weaved his fingers through dark tresses, feeling the thickness on his skin. He pushed the other toward the bed, gently forcing him to sit down, and then lay down on the mattress.

L's dark eyes were almost luminescent in the dark, fixated on him, filling their depth only with images of Light, of his body, of his golden eyes and tanned skin. They held a sense of finality, as if their owners knew that that night was the last, that they wouldn't see each other for a long time, probably forever.

Light closed his eyes, fighting with the sudden lump in his throat, and crawled over the bed, over the other, giving him a lingering kiss on his lips before moving down to his chest, worshipping the taut skin on the sternum. Their members brushed, making them release moans in the air, and one of Light's hand shifted through the sheets, searching for the small bottle he had put there earlier.

He uncorked it, dipping his fingers in the cool gel, and lifted himself up on his knees, reaching behind himself between his cheeks, exhaling breathily and pushing a finger in, breaching the tight ring of muscles easily, loosened from frequent activity. He still prepared himself slowly, closing his eyes against the sensations, feeling L's heavy gaze on him like a physical touch.

They stayed silent even while he positioned himself on L's thick cock, and breathed shakily while he lowered himself, sitting then on the other's hips. They looked at the other, sharing feelings left unsaid, and Light finally moved, contracting the muscles in his tights to lift himself up.

Light rode L slowly, enjoying the thickness penetrating him and L's warm hands on his hips, caressing his skin, letting him control their lovemaking.

Light's body felt heavy and sluggish, his chest tight with emotions, his belly roaring and clashing and rising with pleasure and he couldn't control his voice anymore, his moans echoing in the dark room and joining L's sighs. His movements became uncoordinated, almost wild, and had to let L guide him over his cock, again and again, every thrust almost more deeper than the previous, seeming to reach his very core.

With a cry, Light came, throwing his head back and arching his spine, and felt his muscles constrict around L, who almost lurched upright before releasing inside him.

They didn't say anything afterwards. They cleaned themselves, and settled down to sleep.

And if Light's arms were tighter than usual around the other's middle and his eyes shiner than normal, L didn't mention it.

* * *

The morning light streamed through the open window, slithering over pale skin and dark hair.

Owlish eyes blinked open slowly, the haze of sleep remaining for another second in their depth before retroceding quickly. Now perfectly awake, L looked around, trying against every prediction to find Light in the room.

He wasn't there.

He was long gone.

L sighed and closed his eyes, resting his head on the pillow for a moment before standing up, arching his back to relieve himself of some pain. Light's part of the room looked bare. He had noticed it emptying slowly a week ago. Everything of importance was gone. Only school books remained, not even one album or drawing supply Light was so fond of using. Now the room looked empty, cold, unfeeling.

He had known, of course, of Light's imminent departure. He had noticed it in the nervous spasms that had travelled the teen's body, in the slightly bitten lips, the wrinkled clothes. He knew everything that made Light _Light_ , so he had quickly noticed that something was worrying him. Something big, because the teen hadn't talked to him. He had been worried, of course, and had thought about talking to him, trying to find out what was going on. But Light loved his privacy. And his eyes, through hesitant, had been resolute. He had already made his decision, and nothing L could do would change that.

Now, he was gone.

L felt lost. He looked around again, and spotted a piece of paper on the desk, near his still working laptop. He watched it as if it was a wild beast, fearing its content, then with a sigh picked it up.

 _Don't follow me_.

Only those three words. A plea for privacy. One he would respect. He wouldn't search for him, or try to find out if he was okay, or where he was.

And L would give him time. Wammy would notice the disappearance of Light only if told, and the teachers wouldn't report him until a week was gone. And by that time, Light would be far away.

L got to work.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Author's Notes:** _

Hi guys! I'm so excited! I've been writing all week nonstop and the fic is coming up quite nicely, I have to say. I'm already over 20,000 words, and I've never written so much in English all my life!  
Anyway, here's the new chapter.  
There are notes at the bottom, just to clear a few things up.  
Now enjoy, and let me know if you liked it!

* * *

Five years later found a more grown Light in front of a mirror.  
He checked his suit, straightening his already perfect tie, and shrugged on the brown jacket on his white shirt. He made sure to have his wallet before exiting the room, closing the door softly behind him.  
Light met Mikami in the kitchen, accepting gracefully a cup of black coffee from the other man. He sat down on the counter's stool and reached for the newspaper, giving it a quick scan.  
"I don't understand why you read the newspaper. You're going to be briefed on the relevant things the moment you get to work" commented Mikami, sipping his own coffee.  
"In this way, my friend, I always know most of the things in advance, and I can formulate theories while I get down to the central" explained Light, checking the time. A quarter past seven. He had time.  
Nothing seemed amiss. There had been a couple of robberies in downtown Los Angeles, a murder and a suicide. A normal American day, mused Light.  
He had settled in another country like a fish in the water, taking its habits and making them his own. The house he lived him was large but not too much, just enough for a big kitchen, three bedrooms, two bathrooms and a sitting room. They even had a little garden in the back, but they rarely used it.  
He relaxed, leaning his weight on his elbows, supported by the marble counter. The first months had been rough, but they were fine now. He had a job as a police officer in one of the centrals, Mikami worked part-time at one of the clinics, and in the weekend they relaxed.  
It was almost too good to be true. Kind of boring, of course, without the excitement of the chase L's cases brought.  
L.  
Light grimaced, meeting Mikami's understanding eyes before looking at something else. He often had moods like this, where he mused and thought and almost cried. He missed the other genius. It felt like missing a limb, a vital part of himself. But he didn't regret his choice.  
The sound of padding feet on ceramic tiles made him look toward the door. His five years old son walked slowly into the kitchen, his small limbs sluggish from sleep, white hair messy and untamed. Light smiled, greeting him with a silent kiss on the forehead before lifting him on the stool beside himself, letting him lean against his chest.  
"Morning. Did you put on your contact lens?" Light asked, embracing him gently.  
Near greeted Mikami, his soft voice slurred and tired. He hid his face against his father's shirt, suppressing a yawn. "I'm going back to sleep in a moment. Besides, it seems cloudy today" he answered, mumbling a bit.  
"Then why are you up so early?" retorted Light, turning slightly to look out of the window. Indeed, big grey clouds were slowly filling the sky. Maybe it would be best to bring an umbrella with him.  
"Wanted to say goodbye. I don't like not seeing you when I woke"  
Near was slowly going back to sleep, now completely leaning on his father. The boy was used to waking up at 10, before beginning his studies with his private teacher Kate at 11.  
"We'll see each other this afternoon. Now come on" Light lifted Near up, holding him on his right hip, and walked to the boy's room, entering the white ambient. He expertly avoided the dice's towers and the robots lying around the room, used to his son's quirks, and approached the bed, leaning down his load and covering him with white sheets. He watched for a few seconds the messy white hair, the pale skin, the eyelashes on round cheeks. He gave him one last kiss before exiting the room, closing the door.  
"Remember to make him wear his lenses, I don't want him to force his eyes" he reminded to Mikami, while collecting his keys and gun from the sitting room.  
"I've helped raise him too, you know" reminded Mikami, leaning against the wall. He was still in his night pants since he worked in the late afternoon, in order not to leave Near too much alone. "And like he said, it's cloudy outside, he should be fine."  
"Yeah, but he's also stubborn, and if they begin hurting he will not put on his lenses, because that would mean he was wrong" retorted Light, shaking his head with a fond smile.  
"Will do, then."  
Light closed the door behind him, walking down the walkway to his car. He opened it, and stayed still for a moment, looking up at the sky.  
Then he drove away.  
 _You should see him, L. He's so much like you._

* * *

"River!"  
Light's head shot up, looking over the short wall of his cubicle. He saw his boss wave at him from the open door of his office, and, after a brief nod, he started saving and closing his research on his computer. Looking at his watch, he noticed that his shift was almost over, so he collected his things and walked to the big private office in the front of the room.  
Police Commissioner James Moore was a big man, Caucasian, with a big moustache and a jovial air around him. He motioned Light to come in, while talking to the phone and taking notes on a notepad. Light closed softly the door, sitting down in one of the armchairs in front of the huge desk. He waited patiently, neither fiddling nor fidgeting; he stayed silent, with his hands on his knees, a blank expression on his face. He knew that he hadn't done anything wrong, so he wasn't worried.  
After five minutes, the Commissioner put down the phone, settling down on the seatback and sighing. Then looked at Light with a brilliant smile.  
"Light River, one of my best Inspectors!" he said, taking some files from one of his drawers.  
"You're too kind, sir" Light replied, always courteous, while feeling a tiny surge of pride and smugness. Of course, he was one of the best.  
"Not at all" the other retorted, snuffling the papers. "Now, you've been here…"  
"Almost five years, sir"  
"Yeah, you're right, of course. Stupid paperwork, it makes my head heavy and confused. And who the hell decided to print these profiles with this small letters?! I'll end up blind, I swear on my mother's grave! Anyway, back to the point" he smiled again, settling down Light's folder. "In this time of the year, my superiors take notice of the best between my subordinates in order to make a list of people worthy of a promotion. However, this promotion consists of the possibility to move abroad and settle as an Officer or a superior rank in one of the countries who have signed a Security Treaty with the USA. Of course, my superiors always ask for my opinion, and this time I selected you as the best candidate."  
The man stopped talking, giving time to Light to absorb the information. "Of course, you don't have to accept, you're welcome to stay here with us in Los Angeles. Hell, I probably shouldn't have given your name, so I could have had you still in my team, but my sense of duty is more important than my personal's – or this central's – gain, so… The decision is yours" he finished, looking at the other kindly.  
Light smiled a bit, his eyes vacant while he considered the words of his superior.  
He was comfortable there, in the USA, and hadn't considered the possibility of moving, but maybe he could consider it. He had to talk to Mikami, of course, and Near, and then they had to decide.  
"I have to give an answer now or…"  
"Oh no no, you of course have time to decide. It's a big opportunity, of course, but also a big decision. I heard you have a son, so changing town and even country can be… difficult. Think about it!" the man stood up, followed instantly by Light, and led the other to the door. "You have two weeks."

* * *

Light kept pondering on the offer during his ride back home. He thought about the positive things, like a change in scenery and the possibility of maybe learn a new language – like he didn't knew enough already -, and the negative ones, like… well, he couldn't think of anything.  
He moved a strand of caramel air away from his slightly sweaty forehead, checking the sky while parking the car in front of his house. In the morning clouds had covered the sky, casting the world into barely lit shadows. After lunch the weather had cleared, giving away to the almost-too-much warmth typical of California. He locked the car, walked up the walkway to the door, and retrieved his keys.  
Blissful coolness greeted him when he entered, closing the door behind him and remaining into the semi-darkness of the living room. The curtains were closed, as usual in a sunny day like this, and he had to stop a moment in order to give time to his eyes to adjust. It was silent, like always. He appreciated it, after the chaotic racket of the city, and Mikami wasn't a noisy man. Near… well, he didn't talk much, and moved even less.  
"I'm home!" he still said loudly, loosening his tie and taking off his jacket.  
A near silent white shadow approached him, bumping slightly his head against Light's waist before lifting his arms, wanting to be picked up. Light smiled, hoisting the child up and resting him on his hip, while moving toward the kitchen. He checked Near's face before setting him down in one of the counter's stool and opening the fridge.  
"Mikami's at work?" he asked, pouring a glass of juice for his son and one of water for himself. He sat down in front of the other, giving him his glass and a pointed look when Near made to refuse.  
"Yes, he left one hour ago. Something about a broken leg" Near answered, drinking reluctantly his milk. He rested one elbow on the counter, wrapping a strand of white hair around his finger. He then hesitantly looked at his father in the eyes. "Miss. Kate will not come here again."  
Light sighed, more fond and exasperated than angry, and searched his son's light grey eyes*. "What did you do this time to scare her this badly? And you're not wearing your contact lenses"  
"I took them off when Mikami closed the curtains. It's dark in here, so my eyes don't bother me too much, and I'm not going out anytime soon. I _hate_ those lenses. They itch."  
"I know you don't like going outside, but one day you will have to face the big bad world out there. It's better if you start practicing now that you've the time to adjust at your own rhythm."  
"I'm not scared of the world out there, father, it's just the people. There are stupid. And confusing."  
"You don't have to like them. Just… ignore them, if you can. Anyway, we have to do something about those clothes of yours. Near, you can't wear only pajamas."  
Near stiffened, looking down at his white cotton garments, before narrowing his eyes at his father. "I like them. There's nothing wrong with them"  
"I know they're comfortable, love, but you can wear other things, like trousers and T-shirts. Pajamas are not ideal to live in; they have been created for bed"  
The 5 years old tried to find any fault within that statement, while twirling furiously his hair with his finger, in a show of distress. Light sighed, standing up and rounding the counter, before taking his son in his arms. The boy immediately clung to him, hiding his face in his neck.  
"Tell me the truth, what it is that comforts you, the cloth, the color or the pajama itself?" Light asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from the other's lips. Despite Near's secretive and private tendencies, the boy was still his son, and he knew him well.  
"The color" Near finally mumbled, his small shoulders slumping in defeat.  
"Then we will buy only white clothes. How is it?"  
"…It's fine, I guess."  
They stayed like that in calm silence, hearing the faint sound of the clock's hand move around the quadrant.  
"Don't think even for a moment that I forgot the explanation you owe me about your teacher" reprimanded Light in a low voice.  
Near groaned.

* * *

"How do you feel about moving?" asked Light that evening, while they were all seated at the kitchen table.  
Near remained silent, his expression blank while he moved his vegetables and fish around the plate, and Mikami lifted an eyebrow, waiting for Light to continue.  
"Well, they want to give me a promotion that includes the possibility of moving in one of the countries allied in a Treaty with the USA."  
"Seems interesting" commented Mikami, taking a bite of his steak. "You should know by now that I'll follow you anywhere. Besides, as a doctor, I can work practically everywhere, so the choice is on you two."  
"Near?"  
"I'm not opposed to the idea. I find the American… rude, in their own way."  
"You never met one, love."  
"But I caught glimpses of movies on the television, so I know what I'm talking about. I'd like some place more civil, but crowded enough so I don't have to… _socialize_ " Near said the last word distastefully.  
"Crowded is good, it reduces the possibilities of making certain encounters" hinted Mikami.  
Silence fell on the room. Light looked at the table, feeling the already-too-familiar sadness clung to his chest.  
"I'd like to meet him, one day" said quietly Near, taking a sip of water, his observant eyes fixed on Light's face.  
"You will" answered Mikami, earning a sharp glare from Light.  
"He doesn't have to know that I'm his son, father" Near stepped in before Light could start a full-on rant on the topic _why meeting L is not a good idea_. "I heard from you and the internet that he's quite smart, and apparently I take after him, so it's only natural I want to verify if the rumors are true. For scientific purposes, of course. It might prove interesting to see the level of both our intellects; I wonder if your genes combined with his managed to create something superior. You're quite smart yourself after all, father."  
"There will be an occasion to sate your curiosity, I'm sure of it."  
The lump of tears in his throat was back, like a long-known friend. He had become acquainted to the sensation in these years everything the topic of L came up. He had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that with distance his heart could have grown cold, and his feelings could have been buried in the darkest recesses of his psyche. But that hope had been for naught from the beginning. Light had always been a master at recognizing his own emotions, and when he had begun his relationship with L he had known that he couldn't back down. The decision had been made on their first night.  
And because he had given birth to him, and had been there through all of his life, Light knew that Near didn't want to meet L only in the name of _scientific purposes_. He was curious about the kind of person his other father was, but was scared of the answers. So he cloaked his real motives behind his indubitably real curiosity on their shared _genes_ and _levels of intellect_.  
Near knew Light knew. His sharp light grey eyes looked at his father's golden ones, before lowering them on his half eaten meal.  
Of course his son would feel the need to hide his feelings, thought Light with an almost bitter smile.  
 _Vulnerability. We both fear it, hide from it. Don't we, L? It shouldn't be a surprise that our son is the same._  
"Anyway, we were talking about moving" said Mikami, stopping the gloomy atmosphere from spreading across the evening. "Do any of you have any kind of suggestions?"  
Light looked at his son, who shrugged almost imperceptibly. "For me is the same. I'm a five years old, my opinion shouldn't matter."  
"But you're awfully mature for your age, and you secretly appreciate the care we put in your opinion on things. You really have no ideas?" retorted Light teasingly.  
Near scoffed slightly, narrowing his eyes in clear annoyance, before refocusing on the subject and considering the possibilities. Then he hesitated.  
"You thought of something" noticed Light, leaning slightly over the table. "Tell us."  
"Well…" begun Near, uncertainly. "I've always been curious about Japan**."

* * *

Beyond Birthday was amused.  
It had happened very few times in his life, and he relished in the feeling, while escaping the police patrols looking for him. He had left a trail of bodies behind him, beginning with A's corpse at the Wammy's House.  
He briefly felt a twinge of regret at the corners of his mind, before brushing it aside. Alternative had had it coming, with all his questions about B's eyes, what they could do, what he could _see_. He had seen the madness take hold in his only friend mind, how he had become engrossed on dusty tomes in the darkest recesses of the Institute's libraries. And those books, they were _abnormal_. Grimoires, magic, witchcraft. He hadn't even known that they were there – and he had took pride in knowing every corner of the library, while his twin seemed to favor crouching on chairs in front a glowing screen.  
Beyond knew the origin of his eyes, knew what they were, the harm they could bring with the right _tools_. No one could know about that. The temptation to _kill_ would be just too strong for the sanity of a common mind. Fortunately, he wasn't common nor sane, so he hadn't really had the temptation to go looking around for a Shinigami and persuade his to give him their Note. He was quite content to sit around, acquire knowledge, and ponder on other people's lifespans, fluctuating red in front of his eyes every time he turned his head.  
But he had made just one little mistake. He had been naïve, and hopeful, so giddy at the thought of having a friend, that he had told him.  
Told Alternative about his eyes. And their origin.  
And in the span of only ten years, A had deteriorated in front of his eyes.  
His two damn eyes had killed his friend. Them and his loosened tongue. Well, and his knife, in a more physical way.  
And he had run. He had stabbed Alternative in their bathroom, has seen the harsh spark of _surprise_ , _horror_ , _realization_ , before the light had left his eyes.  
He didn't regret it. Death was better than total madness, the one Alternative had slipped in. And he knew that A, had he been sane, would have agreed with him.  
Unfortunately, his twin and Mr. Wammy hadn't agreed to his version of the events. Of course, they didn't know about all the stuff that had caused the tragedy, and they couldn't know, so he had escaped.  
The problem.  
Blood, like his lovely strawberry jam, is addictive. It's fascinating, with his colors. Ruby red in the arteries, rich with oxygen, and amaranth, filled with carbon dioxide. To think that just a little organ is responsible for pumping five liters of that nectar inside a man's body and ensuring his survival is… mind blowing.  
So he had kept on killing. Not mindless slaughter, mind, he tried to pick those people whose numbers were already too low to last a week. He tried not to think of the probabilities, if those numbers were low because they would still be killed without his intervention or if by predestination in the moment he laid his eyes on them they were destined to die, with him as their killer. He didn't want to know.  
He had played around Great Britain, then had decided to change scenery and had clandestinely boarded a flight for Canada. In the following weeks, he had toured the country, leaving behind him a trail of blood. Now he would continue with the United States, beginning with California. After the cold of the north, he was anxious for a bit of warm.  
And he was there, in Los Angeles - he snorted, thinking that the Angels would be soon enough covered in the blood of his victims – strolling along the water's edge, kicking shells and small rocks. He wondered briefly what his twin, L, was doing, if he was amused by this little merry chase around the New Continent, or if he was angry.  
Beyond sighed, scaring a kid with the blood red glint of his eyes in the setting sun. L had not been the same since his Light had run away. The genius hadn't known the reason, and the loss of his _equal_ had weighted on him, even if he tried not to let it show. Beyond had noticed, of course. So had Wammy, who had now found another reason to hate Light Yagami.  
But Beyond _knew_. Had known for a long time, before Light's disappearance, the reason for his decision. And he had understood. Light wasn't a genius for nothing. The 2nd, Kira, had been able to look around his feeling and see the cruel truth. That what he was carrying was an abomination. Not the kid per se, of course, but all the _child-carried-by-a-male_ thing.  
At first he hadn't known what was wrong with Light, but after some months he had seen. The numbers. The numbers _never_ lied. Under Light's own lifespan had appeared another one, smaller, blurred, but clearly visible. Without a name, of course, because the child wasn't born yet. He had seen the phenomenon the few times he had ventured out of the Institute to the crowded streets of London, with pregnant women.  
A _nephew_. He almost squealed out loud, and something must have shown on his face, because another kid startled so badly he almost fell.  
He had a nephew. How exiting. He had been thinking about him? her? for the last five years, and was curious as hell. Family was important, after all.  
He wondered dreamily if they had their dark hairs, or a mix with Light's caramel ones, or another color altogether. They would be smart, of course, and they would be _glorious_.  
Beyond smirked, seeing a familiar twenty one years old walk down the street, unaware of being recognized.  
Maybe he would be seeing them sooner than expected.

* * *

Beyond walked up the walkway of the house he had been watching for a few hours. It was dark outside, the nearest lamp post far away, so he barely could see where he was stepping on. The house was anonymous enough, clean, with a white façade and a red roof. Almost cliché in its simplicity.  
He rang the doorbell, and waited, almost giddy with excitement.  
After a couple of seconds, someone opened the door.  
It was a child, five years old – he knew for sure, of course -, dressed in white pajamas who gave him the appearance of a little ghost, together with the white snow hair and the pale skin. Little owlishly light grey eyes looked at him, confused but sharp.  
"May I help you, sir?" the boy asked with a high clear voice.  
Beyond looked over the other's head, grinning at the floating red letters: _Nate Lawliet_.  
"Well well well" he said, crouching down at the boy's level in order to see him better, not bothered by the invasive grey eyes tracking his every movement. "Look, it's my nephew!"  
"Near!" a voice called from inside the house, while the sound of footsteps grew nearer. "How many times I told you not to open the door to…"  
Light came to an alt, golden eyes wide and disbelieving, and instinctively pulled his son to him, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder.  
"B?" he asked, still shocked, his every instinct screaming at him to take Near and Mikami and _run_.  
"Kira, it's a pleasure to see you. May I come in?" asked Beyond, smiling widely.  
Light stalled, not knowing what to do. On one side he wanted to know why the other was there, at his door, how he had found them, what he knew, and especially if L knew anything. On the other he didn't know if he could trust Back Up. The teen had always been kind of unstable, back in the Institute.  
Beyond seemed to sense his reluctance and put on his more earnest face. "I swear I mean no harm to you or your family."  
They looked at each other in the eye for a few minutes, before Light tugged back Near with him and allowed Beyond to enter their sanctuary.

* * *

The four of them sat in the living room, everyone studying the others. The first one to break the silence was, surprisingly, Near.  
"I get that you're my other father's twin" he stated, looking at Beyond in his red eyes, not the least affected by the insane look of them.  
Light startled badly, while Beyond grinned at his nephew. "Nea-"  
"He knew already, father, he called me his nephew. So I didn't say anything new to him" explained Near, not taking his eyes off the man who was, apparently, his uncle. Well, the descriptions he had managed to extort from his father pointed him to be Beyond Birthday, so it was probably him.  
"How did you know? How did you find us?" asked Light anxiously, tucking Near against his side. The child didn't protest, knowing the solace his father was finding in his physical presence against him.  
"One question at once, Light-o. I actually wasn't searching for you. I was casually strolling down Los Angeles and puff! I saw your charmingly usual self walk down the street. Since I was curious about what hole you had crawled in, I followed you. And here I am!"  
"Ok, this is plausible, even if I can't think of a reason why you're here in America instead of the Institute, but how did you know about my son?" insisted Light, sharing an anxious look with Mikami, who hadn't said a single word.  
"You should know, Light, that there are a lot of things that I shouldn't know that instead come into my knowledge. I can't say how I acquired the secret of the existence of my nephew, but I can assure you I didn't say anything to anyone" reassured Beyond, leaning against the seatback. He looked more closely at the tense expression on Light's face. "… And L doesn't know" he added, making Light relax instantly against the couch.  
Beyond shifted his gaze back to his nephew, with whom he began a staring match, neither of them blinking their wide eyes. He then smiled against and nodded his head.  
"He's a sharp little thing, for a five years old. A worthy offspring of my brother and you" Beyond commented.  
Light inclined his head, accepting the compliment for what it was.  
"You still haven't told us why you are here in America" he reminded him, accepting his son's hug, that now that he had caught every clue he could was quite tired. It was midnight, after all.  
"Well, it's a looooong story. Let's just say that I'm doing trouble all over the world, and I found Los Angeles to be quite worthy of my attention" Beyond grinned, his smile sinister and all sharp edges. "So if you don't want to be found, I suggest you move, because what I'm going to do will attract L here like a moth to the flame!"

* * *

 _ **End Notes:**_

*Near's eyes, as we saw in the anime, are dark grey, almost the color of dark steel. Here the original color is light grey, but with his contact lenses are darker, because the lenses add a darker film on his iris and pupils, in order not to let the bright light hurt him.

**I made a little bit of research (a fast one) and I discovered that there's a U.S.-Japan Security Treaty signed in 1960. I might be wrong, of course, but I needed a thing like this to make the transition work in a legal way. (I don't even know what I'm saying right know)

I think I have to explain why I have chosen Near.  
It seemed like the most logical choice because he's quite similar to L (and I love him, but it's beside the point). I suppose I could have created an OC, but I'm not comfortable with them, and Light's son is one of the principal characters in this story, so... Near.


	3. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note:**_ I'm so so sorry. I wanted to upload this yesterday as usual, but I was exhausted (first week of school, they are already killing us - and the heat doesn't help at all...), so I figured I would shift the upload-day to Friday, since I can stay home in the afternoon and actually use the computer.

Anyway, I wanted to answer to **Laonasa Enllyn Avery** 's review: I know you want L to meet them, but that will not happen for... another two chapters, more or less. Sorry. They will, eventually, I swear!

Now, enjoy! (and let me know what you think)

* * *

After the encounter with Beyond, they moved.

And seven years later, Light was _exhausted_. He let himself fall in one of the couch of the comfort area of the Police Station, feeling his body become boneless.

He hadn't returned home for three days. He didn't know why, but crimes had popped up everywhere in the last week, and he, as the second in command of his team, just under the Chief, had to know about everything. So there he was, running like a madman in and out of the Station, bringing criminals in, filing paper works, conducing interrogations.

How he missed his bed. He missed his son; he missed the quiet presence of Mikami, always ready to have his back.

He let out a snort of disgust. Hell, he was becoming his father.

Fortunately, he had kept his American name, River, and not Yagami, his original one. That name was known in that Police Station, being the same where his father had worked when he had been alive. And know, Light was under the command of one of his late father's man, Aizawa, who had climbed the ranks and become Chief Inspector ten years before.

No one had recognized him*. And Light was more than happy to stay silent.

He sighed, knowing that he had to stand up and go back to work. But he was so _tired_ …

Maybe if he closed his eyes for a little while…

* * *

"River"

A cheery voice was calling him, attracting his attention from the muddy fog that was his sleepy mind. Light tried to focus, frowning, feeling his eyelids stuck together with what he felt had to be superglue.

"River! Light!"

He finally managed to open his eyes, and the first thing he saw was the close – too close for comfort – face of Matsuda, the fool but brave underling of the team. Light yelped, startled, and fell down the couch, landing hardly on the cold floor.

"I'm sorry, Light!" said Matsuda, helping him get up. "But you were sleeping, and we finished for today, and Aizawa, I mean, the Chief, asked me to wake you and send you home. Said to take a few days off because you have earned it."

Light tried to turn back on his wasted brain, and managed to catch the general meaning of the other's words. He smiled – more of a grimace, God, he was tired – and barely remembered to take his jacket and personal effects before escaping the Station.

He took the train, because he couldn't trust himself not to fell asleep at the wheel and that would be really bad, so he endured forty minutes of chatting teenagers and swinging metal screeches, feeling his headache worsen by the minute.

All he wanted was to take a long, hot shower, cuddle his son, and sleep.

He remained with his blank gaze fixed in front of him for the entire ride home, earning strange looks from the college students around him, but he couldn't care less. He always tried to keep a façade of perfection around him, finding it easier in order to interact with the world, but one thing that always bought down his masks was tiredness. He couldn't deal with it, and now had it in spades.

The short walk home felt like torture, and he almost bought down the door in his haste to open it. Inside, the usual blissful coolness and darkness awaited him, making him relax while the feelings of _home_ , _family_ and _safety_ embraced his brain.

Mikami was in the living room, working on his laptop. He had flourished in Japan, becoming a well-known doctor in that country and out of it. Articles of Dr. River were held in high esteem, and Light knew that his friend was proud of his accomplishments. His love for medicine and his desire to help people were the principal things that led him in his work, and the people he worked with recognized that.

Mikami lifted his eyes hearing him come into the room. "You look like hell" he said honestly, earning a grimace from Light. "Do you want something to eat, before you hit the bed?"

"No, thank you, I think I will hit the shower and then dream land. Near?" Light answered, loosening his tie and letting all his things fall down in one of the armchairs. He would set them in the right places when he woke.

"In his room. These past days have been tough for him. You know how he has trouble sleeping in general, and even if he wouldn't admit it, when you don't come home for a while he worries and doesn't rest until you're here again. Some sleep will do wonders for him too."

"Yes, I know. Send him to my room when you hear the water stop, will you? And don't wait us for dinner. We probably will be out for a long time."

* * *

Hot water was heavenly on his strained muscles.

Light let his head lean forward until his forehead met the cold wall, supporting his weight with his forearms of the white tiles. He gradually relaxed, feeling the warm rivulets worm their way in his hair, flattening it on his skull and making it dangle on his eyes. He brushed it on one side, and looked down his body, taking in the hard muscles in his chest and abdomen and his still lean waist and legs, the thighs strong from all the legwork his job made him do.

He had earned some scars that shimmered silver under the water. He hates them with a passion, because they mar his body, making it ugly, even if they symbolize the things he had done to ensure the citizens' safety in the countries he had worked. Still, he would have avoided them.

But there was one that he wouldn't trade for the world, even if it was the ugliest and more extended. It was across his abdomen, twelve years old, a neat cut with a jagged edge where Mikami's hand had shook for a second, his nerves getting the best of him before the professionalism had come back again. From that scar his baby had seen the light, and he remembers the shattering pain, the anesthetic useless in the too low quantity they had managed to gather without attracting attention. That hour had been hell, the most painful moment of his life. But it had been worth it.

 _L, if you could see my body now, would you like it?_

He couldn't help himself. His thoughts always ended up to L, to their time together, to the emptiness he still felt inside him. Before L, before Wammy's House, he had always been alone. In his home in Japan no one understood him, they only saw the sweet perfect son who had perfect grades, and no one was able to connect with him on a more personal level.

Until L. Their brains had boosted one another, and the kinship he had felt had changed his life. And know, he had Near, who was so smart for his age that was scary, and Mikami, clever in his own right, but they were not _L_. And he felt so bad thinking that, because he loved the both of them to death.

And he missed L. His equal, the other part of his being.

He couldn't help himself if sometimes he addressed him, hoping against hope that the other genius could hear him.

Impossible, of course. But it was the only comfort for that part of him that still wailed and cried for L's absence.

* * *

When he entered his room he found Near already inside his bed, coiled up on one of his pillows, his light grey eyes almost unfocused. Light eyed the bags under his son's eyes with worry, and crawled into bed, taking the twelve years old in his arms, ignoring the low whine of objection.

"I know you've grown, but we both know that you won't fall asleep alone, so let me held you, ok? We both need sleep" murmured Light, settling him against in chest and curling around him.

They soon grew drowsy, and Light was almost asleep when he felt Near shift slightly, burying his face in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

"I missed you" he heard him say, and Light smiled, kissing the top of his head.

"Missed you too" he said back, and they were quickly asleep soon after.

Near grew restless a few hours later, when darkness had already fallen outside the window. His jerky movements woke Light, who looked around him before embracing his son gently, cooing sweet nothings in his ear. The boy stilled after a minute, fluttering his eyelashes and half opening his eyes.

"Mom?" Near asked, voice drowsy and low.

"Shh, I'm here, go back to sleep" murmured Light, resting lightly his lips on the other's forehead.

Near seemed to accept the answer, because he was out in a moment, his breath even and regular.

I've become soft, though Light, watching with half lidded eyes his sleeping son. And he couldn't find in him the reason to regret it.

* * *

When Light woke, he was alone. The sun shone through the heavy curtain, lighting the room in shades of light blue. The red digits of the digital clock on his bedside marked half past ten, and the man stretched, feeling his joints crack and loosen after a long time of stillness.

He had slept sixteen hours.

He stood up, feeling the scar on his abdomen itch in protest for the quick movement. He scratched it, repressing a yawn, and exited in the hallway, his naked feet padding silently on the clear parquet. He got down the stairs, hearing the low noise of the television coming from the living room. A clear signal that Mikami was home, since Near had a fierce revulsion toward the device.

In the kitchen, he turned on the coffee machine and got a frying pan on the burner, set on making some scrambled eggs. Light then noticed the trails of toys all around the kitchen floor, and the edge of a puzzle around the table.

"Have you had breakfast?" he asked to the air, already knowing the answer and adding by habit another egg on the pan.

"No, but I'm not hungry" answered a low voice, absent-mindedly.

Light snorted, finished cooking the egg, and, after setting them on two plates, bought them to the table. Then peered around it.

Near was lying on his stomach, slender finger coiling a strand of snow white air around itself, his grey eyes – he was wearing his lenses, noticed absently Light – focused on the white puzzle in front of him, half finished. It had been the latest gift from Beyond, having arrived on their doorstep a week previously. The criminal – yes, they had heard about the LA massacre and had connected the dots – had managed, with a great amount of luck, to escape L, and had vanished, probably keeping a low profile. They hadn't heard from him for seven years, but every few months gifts found their ways on their doorstep, all containing stimulating toys for Near.

Light hadn't protested. He knew that his son was bored most of the time, and those gifts excited him, judging from the spark of giddiness his eyes got when they appeared.

Feeling watched, Near lifted his eyes, pointing them in the golden ones of his father. Knowing already, he sighed, stood up and approached the table, sitting in one of the chair with a disgruntled hair. They ate, and when they finished each of them disposed of his plate, putting the dirty dish in the dishwasher.

"Can we go to the library, this afternoon?" asked Near, his blank expression clashing with the slightly hopeful tone.

"I don't see why not. Anything in particular?" Light said, sipping on his now bearable coffee.

"I don't know…" the boy looked around, thinking. "I finished those books on French language and culture, so I have to return those, and now I'd like to pick another project. Italian, maybe."

"Seems interesting. Be ready in a couple of hours, then. We could also go to the park."

Near scowled. "The park, really? Why?!"

"When was the last time you've been out of this house, not counting the trips to the library?" asked Light, raising his eyebrows. "I know you don't like people, and crowds and confusion in general, but you have to get out a little bit."

"Fine" relented his son, rolling his eyes. "But somewhere with trees. You know I can't suffer the sun."

"Deal."

* * *

A week later, a child disappeared.

Light was sent to investigate with Mogi, but they couldn't find any clue.

The child, Masato Fujimoto, eleven years of age, had been playing in his house front yard, like he always did. The mother, as usual, had been in the kitchen, cleaning it after dinner, hearing the news on the television and occasionally checking on his son through the window.

At 21:23, the woman had checked again, and his son hadn't been there.

Light questioned the neighbors and the father – who had been in the living room -, but no one had seen anything. He had examined the street, searching for any sign, but all was normal. It was a mystery.

The street's security cameras had been too far away.

Three days later, a body was found in one of the trash bins a few streets away. It was wrapped in a common trash sack, black and shiny, the extremities bound with pieces of rope.

Masato's eyes, when he had been alive, had been shining blue, clear and full of life. In death, the wide open orbs were glassy and opaque, resembling pieces of glass, staring into nothingness. Sprays of blood marred his tanned skin, crisscrossing on his face and neck.

The true horror had been his torso: it was slit wide open, the jagged edges of the pale ribs jutting out of the skin, and the cavity was empty. All his organs had been removed.

And Light couldn't find any clue at all.

* * *

No one had seen anything. They had no leads, and even Light's superior brain couldn't think of anything.

All the things they could exploit – the sack the boy was found in, the rope, the blade used for the slaughter, any kind of particles that could have been found on the body – were dead ends. The objects were too common to trace, and no particles were found. Light was sure of that, he had pestered the forensic experts until they had checked at least thrice.

And the press was slandering his team that was already under a lot of pressure from the Commissioner.

And they couldn't find _anything_. It was like chasing a ghost.

* * *

Two weeks later, another child disappeared.

Same modus operandi.

The child, Kyousuke Michishige, ten years old, was playing with his eight year old sister in front of his house. Their mother was talking at the phone inside the house; the sister went to the bathroom.

At 20:04, when his mother went out to tell him to come inside because _there was a killer out there kidnapping children_ , he was already gone.

They questioned the family, the neighbors, everyone that could have seen anything, but Light knew that it was useless.

And four days later, the boy was found in another bin, wrapped in cheap plastic and with his organs removed.

No traces. No leads.

Light wanted to scream.

* * *

It went on for another month and a half.

Other three children were kidnapped and found dead after a few days, their chests open and empty. The press was having the time of its life, printing articles after articles on the _Child Eater_ , the name the journalists had given the killer.

Light was tired, and disheartened. But he wanted to look at the files again, trying to find something that maybe they had overlooked. So he bought the folders home. After dinner, while Mikami worked on his laptop and Near built a dice's tower, Light spread the documents on the low table in the middle of the living room and sat on the floor. And looked. And looked. And couldn't find anything again.

"It's the case of the children?"

Near's voice startled him, and Light whipped his head to the side, seeing his son peer over his shoulder, his wide eyes alight with curiosity. "Yes. I can't seem to find a bloody clue."

"Can I take a look?"

Light hesitated. "There are gruesome photos of children your age" he tried to argue.

"I can handle it" answered his son, looking at him with earnest eyes.

He caved. Near sat beside him, and they went together through the shortage of evidence.

"The first one, Masato Fujimoto, eleven years old, went missing around 21:23 the 10th of September, and his body was found the 13th. The second one, Kyousuke Michishige, ten years old, was gone at 20:04 the 23rd of September, and found the 27th. Then Asuka Sakamoto, twelve years old, the 11th of October and found…"

"The 14th of the same month" completed Near, furrowing his brows and looking at the papers. "Teru Kojima the 24th, Masahiro Saruwatari the 3rd of November. There's no connection, apart for the fortnight cadence."

"I think the victims are chosen by chance, not by characteristics. The age ranges from nine to thirteen."

"And the houses are quite away from each other. There a pattern, a shape in the collocation on the map?" asked Near, his grey eyes focused and sharp.

"We've already checked that. No shape, no pattern, just a crazy line all around the city. I think the districts are chosen by chance too."

"Probable" said Near, reaching for the photos. He studied them, his eyes devoid of emotions, not feeling in the slightest affected by the sight. He seemed to be thinking about something that troubled him, and started to twirl a strand of air around his fingers.

Light remained silent, giving him the quiet he needed, and stretched, almost groaning at the sore muscles on his back.

"What's your opinion about the organs?"

"The reason why he or she took them you mean?" asked Light, who kept talking after seeing Near's nod. "Well, since the victims are all children… I thought about some kind of cult, satanic maybe. They often require the consumption of organs, and virgins' blood, and other crap. And we looked into strange libraries, new age shops, to see if someone had bought something like a dagger or spell books in the last weeks. Nothing."

Near fixed his gaze to the photos, pensive. Then started talking slowly, deep in thought. "I read some books about the usage of rituals in some pagan and monotheistic religions, and only a certain type of organs are to be used, often the heart, and the uterus in women. So if the goal was some kind of rituals, taking all the organs multiple times doesn't make sense."

"Should you read those kinds of books?" asked Light, concerned.

Near blinked at him. "I was bored."

They looked at each other in silence.

"And my knowledge might be useful to the case, so stop being a father for once."

"Fine!" said Light, grumbling. "So! Not a ritual, then. Are you thinking about organs' trade?"

His son nodded slowly. "I think you should look into the organs' black market. You might find a lead; there must have been a surplus of fresh healthy organ these months. Something must come up."

* * *

The next week trailed by slowly.

Light told the team his son's thoughts and, after Aizawa's tirade on _not showing kids traumatic things_ and _dangers of taking documents out of the Station_ , they got to work. They contacted their informer on black market, who said that he would look into things.

All they could do was wait.

One day later another child got kidnapped, ten years old named Hotaru Fukuda, and like usual there weren't any clues.

Two days after that, their informer ended up dead in one of the alleys near the Station, and something leaked to the press, because their lead was printed in capital letters on the next day's first issue.

Everything got more complicated.

* * *

Emi was eating breakfast. It was a normal day in his apparent normal life. He ate his toast, donned his jacket, got to work.

Then he saw the newspaper.

 ** _Japanese Police's got a lead on the Child Eater!_**

He had never read something this fast in his entire life. At the end of the article, he was fuming. They had discovered his holy purpose! Now they knew that he was the Helper of the innocents, of the sick and neglected!

Even knowing that, they still tried to catch him. And now, he had to be more cautious, because if he kept on supplying organs this fast someone might start to doubt him. For now his cover had held, but he had to slow down.

His accomplices thought he stole the organs from the hospitals he works in, but even if stupid they would start soon to question him.

He thought about his precious donor, bound and knocked out in his warehouse. Maybe he could keep him for a little while, wait for the waters to settle, then kill him and take another. Yes, he would do that.

A name on the articles caught his attention.

Light River. The detective who had come up with the idea.

In a whim, Emi turned on his computer and opened his company's research software, typing in the name.

He read the results.

He smiled.

* * *

Three days later, Light was going back home. He was later than usual due to a gang fight that had broken in one of the suburbs, and he was exhausted. Again. It was becoming a habit.

He parked his car in front of his house and got out, walking up to the door.

He was fishing out his keys from his jacket when he saw it.

Something was wrong.

The door was ajar, without evidence of lock-picking, but still open.

 _Near_ , he immediately thought. His heart started thundering against his sternum, pumping adrenaline across his veins, and his hand sought the comforting weight of his gun, pointing it up in front of himself. He pressed his body on the wall beside the door and counted to three.

Then, he pushed it open and walked inside.

The first thing he saw, after his eyes adjusted to the different light, was Mikami, lying on his front in the entryway. Looking around and not seeing anyone, Light got down on his knees and pressed his fingers to his friend's neck, checking the pulse. He relaxed a bit feeling it, still strong. He then stood up and walked slowly ahead, checking each room.

There weren't signs of violence. Everything – beside Mikami – was how it should be. Having checked all the ground floor, he walked up the stairs, expertly avoiding the creaking points.

The house was deadly silent. He didn't like it.

Fear, previously pushed to the corners of his mind, threatened to overwhelm him, and he had to stop for a second on the landing to close his eyes and even his breath.

He's alright, he told himself, don't believing it for a second. Your son is just waiting in his room, and nothing happened to him.

Empty words.

His son's door was open. He first checked the other places, then walked in.

A tower of dice was knocked over, its little pieces thrown all around the floor. There were scratches on the door and the walls, and a drop of blood on the floor.

The empty room confirmed Light's deepest fear, and he felt the walls close in on him.

Near was gone.

* * *

 **End Notes:**

*No one recognized him because Light had seen his father's colleagues only a few times, and had memorized their faces, while the officers had probably forgot the face of an eleven years old. As for the name, the surname is different, and I'm going with the idea that in Japan they called him Raito, instead of the English variant Light.


	4. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:**_

I'm exhausted. I just had a bad case of flu, so I missed five days of school and had to catch up with all the work (this weekend is not going to be funny at all), and my insomnia decided to make an appearance, so I can't sleep at night and when I hit the bed in the late afternoon my mind doesn't stop working.

These days I'm running on one, maximum two hours of sleep against 22 of consciousness.

And it seems my body is in tune with the new chapter!+

Enjoy! (and let me know what you think)

* * *

His eyes were red and puffy. Under them, two big purple bags gave him the appearance of a red panda.

His hair was oily and disheveled, his skin dry.

He was dropping from exhaustion.

He had a headache the size of Himalaya.

He hadn't slept for three days, going on hooked on caffeine and sugar to keep him awake.

But he couldn't stop.

He had to find him.

His world was reduced to a single goal, his vision tunneled on the graphs on his desk, on the files on his computer's screen.

He had lost 11 pounds, and everything he ate came back up, his stomach too upset to handle anything other than soup.

"River."

Why he was so stupid? Why he couldn't find any clue? Why?!

He used to be number 2 on Wammy's list, and he could have been first if he had wanted. Had he lost some brain cells in those twelve years? Had his IQ dropped so much that he couldn't figure out something that could cost his child's life?!

"River!"

A hand touched his shoulder, making Light startle so badly he knocked with his elbow his cup of coffee, making it fall and shatter on the floor. The sound seemed to echo in the Station, and for a moment the busy buzz of working officers came to a halt. Every eye seemed to focus on him, judging him, finding him worthless, useless because he couldn't find his child, his baby was going to die because he was so _stupid_ …

"River!" Aizawa's voice barely seemed to reach him, and in a detached way he noticed his increased breathing, the black spots in front of his eyes, the cold sweat on his forehead.

A panic attack, he concluded. He never had one. So it was like this that people felt when they had one? Because it was horrible.

He couldn't get air in his lungs, which constricted so much it hurt. He couldn't breathe, and he was going to die and with him his child, his Near who would die because he was not good enough to find him, and the next body they would find would have snow white hair just like his-

A slap made him snap out of it. Air rushed into his chest, too fast. Light started coughing, feeling hands on his shoulders, a rag drying the sweat on his skin.

"Don't you have things to do? Go back to work!"

He dimly heard his boss' voice over the cotton padding in his head, and immediately felt a million eyes leave their watch on him. He almost collapsed in his chair, and opened his eyes – he hadn't even realized he had closed them, and now the world seemed so bright, too bright, how could the globe be this cheery if his child was missing right now?-.

The concerned face of Aizawa filled his vision, a mask of concern and worry on his features.

"River, you have to go home."

"No, I can't!" answered Light, another wave of panic threatening to overwhelm him. It took a titanic strength to even again his breathing. "I can't, I have to work on the case, my son is out there in the hands of a slaughterer and I-"

"You will collapse if you keep going on like this. Come" the Chief helped him stand up and led him to the comfort area, pushing him gently towards one of the couches.

Light almost fell on the cushions, leaning then forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Sir, I can keep working on this case, I just have to find a lead. If you let me-"

"You are not helping anyone like this, certainly not the investigation" interrupted his boss, sitting in front of him on a chair.

They looked at each other, Light's tired brain struggling to catch the hidden sense of those words. Then he got it, and his eyes widened, filled with desperation.

"You're throwing me out?! Y-You can't, I have to follow this, you can't-"

"River!" snapped the Chief, and he closed his mouth, fuming inside. "Light" continued the other, his softened eyes trained on him, filled with pity and understanding. "It's the rule: if an officer is involved in a case in any way, like you, I have to throw him out of the investigation in order to lower the possibilities of jeopardy." He put a hand up, blocking Light's retort. "This doesn't mean I will do it."

"I… What?" asked Light, blinking his eyes. Hope surged in his stomach, and he almost felt sick with anticipation.

"I will not throw you out of this. I have kids, so I can imagine what you feel right now. So you will still be allowed to work on this case, but you have to _rest_. You are a mess right now, and to put it bluntly, if you're this tired you won't find any clue. We're stuck anyway. It's been what? two months that we are on this, right? And apart from the black market lead, that we lost, we don't have anything."

"Then what we will do? I can't let my kid be killed because we did nothing!" shouted Light, jumping on his feet.

The Chief remained unfazed, watching him from his unmoved position on his chair. "We need help. Help that I will ask while you rest. I want to be honest with you, River: you're the most valuable officer in my team, but you're also the latest arrival. I'm still the Chief, and I'm ordering you to go home and _sleep_. For your own sake, and that of your son. And if you don't listen to me, and keep on doing what are you trying to do – work and work until you _die_ -, I will _fire_ you, and you will not have the possibility to save your child."

* * *

After that, Light remained on the couch, while Matsuda called Mikami. It seemed they didn't trust him to go home without crashing into a tree – and probably they were right.

So Light waited, and when his friend came he sat down on the passenger seat of the car, pouting like a child. The ride home was silent, and Light was heading up the stairs when Mikami spoke up.

"They were right, you know"

Light turned, watching his friend without understanding what he was talking about.

"That guy, Matsuda, explained the Chief reasoning. And they are right. You can't keep going on like this. This – not eating, not sleeping, not taking care of yourself – will not help Near."

"I…" Light staggered, feeling his bones weight him down.

"I know you miss him. I know how you adore that child. I was there when you were scared during you're pregnancy, when you were in pain, when you felt fat and unwanted, when the mood swings hit and after them you cried your eyes out. Hell, I had to endure you throwing yourself at me because you were horny" Mikami chuckled, nearing his friend and putting a hand on his shoulder. "But I never once heard you complain about your baby. Never. You cursed L, the world, even the global warming, but never the little miracle growing in you. So I know how much you love him. But you can't be like this."

Light stared in his friend's eyes, and suddenly saw his tired face, the worry lines on his forehead, the bags – lighter than his – under his eyes. God, had he been so self-centered to notice that Mikami cared too?

Tears rose in his eyes, almost spilling on his cheeks and giving him the impression of being underwater.

"Don't cry, Light" Mikami took his face between his hands, gently cradling it, and gave him a forced smile. "We will get through this. I swear. Now, you have to rest, and then, after a few days, we can think of what to do. Near will be safe until then, because the killer can't kill him. It would attract too attention to him. Besides, your son is clever. His kidnapper will probably end up insane with him around."

Light sniffed, and smiled. He thanked the man he considered his brother and started climbing the stairs, gripping the banister like a lifeline and practically heaving his body on the next step until he came to the landing.

After a few seconds of indecision, he walked to Near's room.

The mess in the room had been sorted. The dice was stacked in the big trunk in one corner, the toys sorted in line on the shelves. Light looked around, expecting to feel destroyed, but he only felt a horrible tiredness weighing on his being. Closing the door, he shed his clothes in a clean spot on the floor, heading for his son's bed and slipping between the cool candid sheets. A sigh left him, feeling his body melt into the mattress. His eyes closed.

The sheets had a subtle scent of vanilla and, strangely enough, flour. It smelled familiar, and he breathed it in, the comforting smell helping him relax.

But sleep wouldn't come. He opened his eyes again and looked around.

The room was tidy, the walls painted an almost white light blue. Books were stacked on shelves and piles on the floor, topics ranging from psychology to languages to herbal medicine.

On the wall over the head of the bed was placed a bulletin board, bulging with newspaper's articles.

There were titles like **_The Great Detective L solves another mystery_** and similar others. One of the front ones caught his eyes: it was an old one, nearly seven years old, and it came from an American newspaper imported in Japan; it said **_L Against the mysterious BB: the only case the Great Detective couldn't solve_**.

Light smiled, his dropping eyes shifting to the cabinet near the bed. On the top there were some finger puppets, put in strategic places. The central ones were the white one, with accentuated grey eyes, and the golden one at his right. On the left, a little distant, was a blank puppet, filled with barely traced black hair and grey eyes. Next to that, the one with dark hair and red eyes seemed to hover, the smile on its face taunting and malignant. At the right of the golden one was a figure with glasses that Light recognized as Mikami.

Light cried himself to sleep on his son's pillow.

* * *

The day after his confrontation with Light River, Police Chief Inspector Shuichi Aizawa entered the room labeled _Conference Room 3_. Inside, he greeted Commissioner General Tsubasa Sugiura and Superintendent General Yusuke Maeda.

The three men sat down on the big rectangular table, all facing forward towards a computer put in the center of the desk.

"What time is it?" asked Maeda.

"Ten to Eleven. The scheduled meeting will begin at eleven."

They waited, each of them fiddling with a pen and a notebook. Aizawa thoughts wandered to his subordinate River, and he jumped when the computer's screen flickered to life, bleeding white. A gothic W appeared at exactly eleven.

"Gentlemen, good morning" greeted a robotically modified voice. "It seemed you have something really important going on to pretend a sudden meeting with L."

Sugiura cleared his throat. "Yes, we have. Where's L? We asked specifically for him."

"L is busy with another case, so everything you have to say can be conveyed to me. I will then report back to L, and by tomorrow you will have his answer."

"Very well" the Commissioner inclined his head, letting Aizawa take the lead.

"Two months ago, children started being kidnapped and then found dead a few days after. We haven't been able to come up with anything, and it has become too personal to just let it end with the dismissed files."

"How many victims? And why it has become personal? What changed?" asked the disembodied voice.

"Seven victims, five found dead and two we presume still alive. The last one is the child of my second in command."

The voice stayed silent for a few seconds. "Why that officer is not here? I would think a father would try to do his best to find his child."

Aizawa almost snapped at the judging tone of the voice, reigning himself just in time.

"Agent River worked himself to the ground trying to find a clue, and I had to send him home before he died from exhaustion at his desk" he said, his voice frosty and toneless.

"I see" the voice said, pensive. "Well, I'll let you know if L will take the case. Gentlemen, goodbye."

* * *

Near was thirsty.

It was a new sensation, and he examined it, storing in his brain the feeling of his parched throat, the slight swelling of his tongue leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

He was feeling a lot of things at once, things he had never felt before in his life, and he had to admit that he felt overwhelmed.

When he felt overwhelmed, he had found out that twirling a strand of hair around his finger helped a lot. It was a repetitive motion that calmed his mind, helping it focus against the onslaught of information that hit his senses. But he couldn't do it now, not with his arms restrained behind him, and he had the strange urge to whine and kick the floor. An illogical reaction, of course, since the floor wouldn't give in, and the force put in the kick would be sent back against him in equal measure, probably leaving him with a sore foot.

He was wandering off. Back at the topic.

His arms were restrained behind him, bound to the chair he sat. The chair was common steel; the rope biting in his wrists seemed to be made by hemp.

None of this helped him. His shoulders were hurting from staying in the same position too long, and the rope was too strong to break. He suspected that, if he tried, the bones of his wrists would snap before the hemp.

He was hungry too. Another thing he had never felt - that he remembered, of course, since as a baby he probably had felt hungry a lot. The hunger was gnawing at his belly, and Near scrunched his nose. He didn't like it.

The other boy was sleeping a few meters away from him, having tired himself out crying and screaming and being a brat. Near appreciated the silence. During the other boy's tantrums he hadn't been able to think, feeling childish screams bounce around his skull. He had almost snapped to the other boy, telling him to _stop wasting breath already, because it wasn't helping_ , but he had decided against it.

He had waited. And now, he had the blissful silence.

He loved silence. Silence meant clear thoughts, silence meant home and safety and his dice. How he missed it.

Near was in a basement. The drug the kidnapper had dosed him with had been wearing off when he had bought them there, so he had been able to see a large warehouse, and a rectangular trapdoor disguised by straw. Under that, an old metal staircase, and the basement he was currently in. It had probably been an air-raid shelter built during World War II, and the steel walls were still in good condition, a little dirty in the corners.

There were no windows, of course, so it was difficult to say how many days had passed. But he trusted his internal clock, and if it said four days, four days had passed. But he couldn't tell the hour. Initially he had been able to, but with the exhaustion setting in some things were becoming blurry, so he had only a faint feeling of time, enough to pass by.

The chair were put facing the far wall, so when the trapdoor opened with a screech he saw only a faint light, and his grey shadow on the wall. Feet landed on the steps of the old staircase, making it creak piercingly. The noise was like a knife in his brain after the never ending silence. Near grimaced.

The man approached, and stopped in front of him. Near kept his eyes closed, with his head hanging forward. He had learned the hard way not to look the man in the eyes. It seemed that his eyes unnerved the man, and he had earned a stinging cheek for his imprudence.

It was still throbbing, and Near could feel its swelling, heavy on his face.

Water was thrown on his face, and he jerked his head up, blinking his eyes and faking waking up. The other boy had received the same treatment, and had already started crying.

How annoying.

They were fed with a small piece of stale bread, and then unbound to release their bodies of their natural waste in a corner. Then back to the chair, and the rope.

Beside the other boy's crying, no one said anything.

The man left. Darkness fell around them.

Near sighed, resting his chin against his soaked and dirty shirt and willing his mind to sleep. But he knew he wouldn't rest a minute.

More than anything else, he missed his mother.

* * *

The Great Detective L had a difficult decision ahead of himself. He furrowed his eyebrows, feeling the weight of the decision settle on his shoulders and making him hunch his back more than usual – if that was possible without snapping his spine.

His grey eyes were fixed on the two choices, trying to find the better of the two. His cunning mind was completely dedicated to the task, so much that he failed to register the sound of a door opening.

He put his thumb against his bottom lip, resisting against the urge to bite down on it – he was thirty years old after all. The decision… he had to make up his mind, and soon.

"Master L?" a voice called, making him jump.

L barely managed to stay on his chair, throwing his weight back to avoid falling on his face. The result had him colliding with the back of his armchair, making him release his breath with an "Ow".

"Master L, have you decided? It has been twenty minutes, after all" asked Watari, his back straight and his expression blank.

"You should give me more time, Watari. It's a critical decision to take" explained the detective, his eyes staring again at the two choices laid out on the table in front of him.

Silence answered him. Feeling watched, L turned slowly his head, almost flinching at the very expressive gaze pointed at his head.

"Oh, fine" he relented, taking one of the plates. "I'll stick with the strawberry shortcake. The cherry one doesn't look appetizing enough to change my habits."

"Very well, sir"

Watari bowed, took the discarded plate, and went out of the door, his steps silent against the elaborate carpet of L's chambers at Wammy's House.

L sighed around the fork, chewing slowly the delicious pastry. He was feeling melancholic, these days. The day before, he had wasted two hours going around the Institute, mapping the already familiar corridors and the unchanged classrooms. He had stopped in front of his old room, staring at the wooden door.

The wood was a deep cherry in color, almost burgundy, and the plaque on it had been still shiny like twelve years earlier, when the room was still occupied. When he had been moved, he had vehemently refused to let his old room be occupied by other orphans, and Wammy, while disgruntled, had respected his wish. The place was cleaned every week even if no one used it, like everything in the Institute.

The ornate incision on the plaque had felt like coming home, and at the same time like a stab wound to the chest.

 _L – Kira_.

He had traced the letters with his fingertips, feeling the swirls and turns and wondering, after all those years, why he hadn't tried to stop him. Why he hadn't asked anything.

He hadn't found in him the strength to open the door. He had simply walked back to his room.

And now he was there, in his new chambers, looking out of the window, overlooking the orphans playing on the grass.

He spotted at once his successors, all huddled together in one corner, separated from the other children. They were easy to recognize: the sun shined on Mello's blonde hair, making it look like the sun itself, while the rays filtering through Matt's made him look like he had stuck his head inside a bloody carcass. The most inconspicuous one was Linda's hair, its brown color dull in comparison to her fellow successors. They were chatting – Mello and Linda were, Matt was, as always, tapping on his videogame.

He leaned his forehead against the glass, sighing. Their lives would be hard, and he almost wanted to release them, letting them live their lives carefree like the children they were. But deep down, he knew that they would never be normal.

A genius's brain was a curse. It set a mere child apart from the others, out of society, making him see things that others couldn't see, making him feel _pain_ in a level deep enough to slowly suffocate him. L abhorred the Institute, what it stood for. It was a bloody factory, set on creating damaged heroes to be used by the society to save itself. No matter that they were human beings, no matter their emotions, their loved ones. The factory robbed them of their souls, gave them a fake purpose. A goal that would benefit the world over the genius himself.

He and Wammy had fought over the Institute for years. They both had to concede things to the other. Now, Roger accepted also children with slight above average intelligence that were not geniuses, and those children could be happy and cared for, without having the weight of the Alphabet on their shoulders.

But L had also had to recognize that the Institute, when gives geniuses purpose, _saves_ them. It doesn't matter that that purpose is fake, or damaging. It gave a goal, an end, a way to keep children and men alive. To keep them from wasting away, eaten from their own mind.

L stared out, until the light gave away to twilight, then darkness.

Then he got to work, pushing things away in his mind until only the next case remained.

* * *

Mobsters were being killed all around Europe.

Of course, that wasn't the problem.

It wasn't even a case a country had provided, because… Well, what sane country contacted a detective to find a man that was helping them with their mafia's problems?

No, he had connected the dots, had taken interest without Watari's mediation.

The death toll was high, fifty seven and still counting. He had agents all around the globe, and those in Europe and Asia were sending him updates every hour. Fifty eight now.

L saw this as a pet project. He would find the killer, but wouldn't prosecute him – because it was certainly a man, eighty nine percent of chance -, merely observing from afar. But at the first sign of violence against civilian, he would intervene.

Two hours later, he knew the identity of the man.

L sighed, leaning against the back of the armchair, rubbing his tired eyes.

 _Beyond, what are you doing?_

Watari entered the room, but he didn't acknowledge him. The elder man even cleared his throat, but the detective kept on staring at the map, trying to see a connection, a way to _see_ what his evil twin – what a cliché idea – was doing.

"There's a case from the Japan's NPA."

L listened, humming softly. He took a black marker. Maybe if he connected the dots…

"Someone is kidnapping children, killing them. Two are still alive, one is the son of an officer."

The slight squeak of the marker's tip on the tracing paper was irritating him. He squatted tighter on the chair, enduring the annoying noise.

"L? What's your answer? Will you take the case?" asked Watari, coming to stand near him.

"Mh?" L turned towards him, blinking with wide eyes. "What?"

The old man sighed. "Case, Japan. Dead children, two still alive, one's the son of an officer" he summarized to the man in front of him, who turned again toward the map on the table with a frown.

"Mh. No, I don't think so. It's boring. _Ordinary_. I don't want it."

"Very well."

Wammy bowed and left the room, not looking forward to giving the answer to Japan's Commissioner.

L kept on drawing on the map, connecting the dots, the children case already leaving his mind.

Ten minutes later, he observed his work.

A bloody mess. He was back to square one.

L groaned.


	5. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note:**_

I know I had to post this yesterday, but I love this chapter (Matt has this effect on me) and today's my birthday, so...

ENJOY! :D

* * *

Beyond hopped down the train, whistling a popular tune and winking charmingly at a group of high school girls, who blushed and giggled. He smirked, wandering out of the subway station and following the road signs to the address he was going to.

The big black duffel bag felt slightly heavy, making him hang toward the left side, weighing his left arm down and making him grimace at the pulling of his sinews. He switched hand, stretching the other and observing disinterested the red lines across his palm.

He finally made it to the house, and he walked up to the door, ringing the doorbell and waiting, switching again the duffel bag to the other hand.

The door opened after a few seconds – probably they were watching through the peephole, it was a smart thing to do after a kidnapping – and a serious Mikami stared at him, leaning his body against the doorpost to prevent entry, his glasses reflecting the morning light.

"What are you doing here?" the man asked, the voice hard and demanding.

Beyond took a moment to study the man, appreciating the lean contours of the body and the square set of shoulders. The tight white shirt the other was wearing showed off his toned chest, that while not muscular made Beyond leer at him. Mikami kept on watching him with mistrustful eyes, not moving a muscle. Beyond then noticed the stress lines on the other's face, the thin lips set in a straight line, and the more than usual disheveled look of his longish hair.

"Heard my nephew went missing at the hands of a child killer, figured I would come by and see if I could help."

"We don't need the help of a murderer" sneered Mikami, his posture defensive and tense.

Beyond stared in the man's dark green eyes, his face serious for once. "I think you need all the help you can get. Besides, we're talking about _my_ family. Do you really think you can stop me?" he asked, walking up to him and stopping too close for comfort, their chests almost touching. He looked up at the doctor, standing on his toes in order to speak in his ear – the height difference sending sparks in his belly, because honestly, the man was _hot_ -. "Want to try?" he whispered, his usual smirk creeping on his face.

Mikami stood still, seeming unfazed by the close proximity – Beyond internally pouted, he had really wanted a reaction from the other -. They stared at each other, dark green clashing against playful red, before the man sighed and took a step back, clearing the way.

"Light's asleep" he explained once he closed the door. Mikami eyed Beyond's duffel bag, a sneer on his face. "And we don't have a guest room."

"Are you offering your bed?" asked Beyond, raising his head with a grin on his full lips.

Mikami watched him with something akin to disgust. "As if I would sleep with a serial killer. Anyway, you're lucky we have an extremely comfy couch you can borrow during your stay here" he explained, turning his back on him dismissively and retreating to the kitchen.

Beyond eyed the other's firm ass for a second, before shaking his head and heading for the staircase, figuring the bedrooms were upstairs. He would try again to have sex with Mikami another time, now he had more important things to think about.

The only room with its door closed was clearly Mikami's, and the next one, empty, seemed to be Light's. The last one, in the farthest corner from the stairs, had his blinds half closed, leaving the place in darkness. Beyond entered silently, the rubber soles of his shoes not making a sound against the parquet. He knew immediately that that was Near's room, because he had noticed form his first and only encounter with his nephew his obsession with white. And white was the main theme of that place, from the wall to the ceiling to the toys and the clothes he could see from the half-closed shutters of the closet.

Light was standing out against the snowy sheets, the blanket tucked in under his chin. His caramel hair was spread like a halo on his pillow, messier than ever, probably from repetitive tossing and turning. Beyond had known that the man would be living a rough time, but he hadn't thought that it would escalate this bad. There were evident dried tear tracks on his sunken cheeks, and his usually natural tanned skin had a sickly pallor to it. Worry was etched in every line of his face, and Beyond didn't need to lift the blanket to know that his body was worn as well, probably from a temporary eating disorder.

The killer sighed, sitting down in one corner and shuffling a deck of cards he had found on the desk. This was a family matter, and no one would keep him from watching over Light.

He just wished he had been there for his nephew.

* * *

He had had enough nightmares to recognize one when he dreamed it, but the awareness of the fake scenarios in his head did not make the horror less real.

He felt he had been running for ages, the muscles in his legs strained with fatigue, searching for something that wasn't there. Around him was dark, dark, dark, shadows everywhere, monsters with bloody eyes leering at him and yelling obscenities, calling his name, trying to make him join them.

His place wasn't with them, Light tried to tell himself, hearing their call reverberate in his bones, making his flesh shudder, echoing in his skull.

 ** _Kira! Kira! Kira!_**

They were calling him, worshipping his alias with tongues made of poison. He felt it, all around him, slowly destroying his soul.

His legs were barely supporting him, but he managed to keep running, running through the eternal night he was living in, feeling the urge to cry. He wanted to rest, to sleep, to forget everything and retreat inside his mind, and at the same thing he wanted to yell, to kick something, to fight, to _kill_.

He felt a weight in his hand, the soft palm against a leather hilt. Looking down, he saw a dagger, its blade shining and reflecting a light that wasn't there. It seemed to come from within, burning hot and scaring him like never before.

Light wanted to drop it. But he couldn't.

He hadn't control on his limbs, that were moving on their own. His legs moved forward, with calm and pondered steps, taking him closer to a goal, a purpose. He didn't know it, but he felt the urge to do it, a firm push under his sternum, leading him forward, towards something unknown.

His mind was screaming at him to turn around, to stop right there and just _wake up_.

But he was trapped in his personal hell, surrounded by darkness and yelling monsters, the cacophony of their calls making him dazed.

He stopped. Light was confused, because nothing had changed. Blackness was everywhere, but his arm was rising, the dagger glinting and rejoicing in its whispering voice, oily and malicious against his senses, and suddenly he was stabbing something on the ground. At the same time, a sharp pain hit his abdomen, almost making him fall down.

There was a strange sound, like something hitting a mattress, and warm liquid seeped in his hands, a spray hitting him on the cheek. He looked down. The dagger was embedded in darkness, but red was on his hands, so much red, so much _blood_ …

It was like flicking a switch. Suddenly he could see, and the cry of despair and agony that left his throat didn't sound human.

Light collapsed, his hand letting go of the now slippery hilt of the cursed dagger, his hand trembling. Red stained white, filtering through cloth before joining the growing puddle under the body. Grey eyes were wide and empty, staring at him, judging him, accusing him. He felt like he was breaking, his throat full of tears but his eyes dry like deserts, the sharp pain in his chest growing and growing until he all he could feel was pain.

Near's body slowly disappeared, his edges turning to ashes. In a few moments, a pile of dirt was in its place, wet with blood.

Light stared, and stared, and stared.

 _You're just like your father_ , a cruel voice whispered in his ear.

Light screamed.

* * *

Golden eyes shot open, and Light lurched upright, his chest heaving and his limbs shaking. The remains of the nightmare crept at the edges of his mind, threatening his sanity, but he pushed them away, curling on himself and hugging his knees at his chest.

His mind was in disarray, but overall, he felt rested.

"Nightmare?" a voice asked, startling him.

His eyes found the black figure huddled in one corner, surrounded by what seemed to be cards' houses. The stranger got up, and flashing red eyes made him strangely relax.

"Beyond" he greeted, his voice raspy and low, while slowly standing up.

In silent agreement, the two exited the room and walked to the kitchen before talking again. A week earlier Light would have felt embarrassed, standing with his past lover's twin in a room with only his pants on, but his brain seemed to focus on more important things than decorum. He fetched a glass of water for himself, and sat down on one of the chairs.

"So, what are you doing here?" Light asked, looking up.

Beyond was looking good as ever, he thought. The man had always been attractive, with his curly dark hair and full lips, pale skin and mysterious reddish eyes. What a pity that he had become a murderer…

 _He just isn't L_.

"Heard Nate disappeared. I wanted to help" explained the raven, getting up and rummaging through the fridge. He gave a hum of happiness, returning to the table with a spoon and a jar of strawberry jam.

Light watched him ate with a wrinkled noise, feeling his empty stomach roll at the display.

"That's disgusting."

"And so satisfying" grinned the other, licking his lips. "Who likes strawberry jam in this house, anyway? I know you don't, I remember your antagonism for things too sweet."

"Mikami" explained Light, putting his elbows on the wood and cradling his chin between his hands. He then saw Beyond's eyes shine mischievously. "Whatever you're thinking, don't do it. That man is a saint."

"Aww Light, always spoiling my fun!" the raven grumbled, pouting. "I just want to know him better, if you know what I mean" he said, wriggling his eyebrows.

Caramel eyes shifter in front of his eyes while he smiled. "Then you have your work cut for you, my friend, because I've never seen Mikami being interested in anyone. A few night stands, sure, but nothing serious. The love of his life is his work."

"If you can't catch a man's heart, retreat a little and take his cock."

"So vulgar, Beyond. I should wash your mouth. There's a child in thi-" Light froze, eyes losing their mirth, smile falling from his face.

Beyond saw the change, and put down his spoon, sighing. "That's why I'm here, you know. I was telling the truth about that."

"What use could be a serial killer?" questioned angrily Light, eyes flashing, teeth almost bared.

The other remained unfazed, his expression serious. "Criminals can go where the law can't get. I heard about the black market theory – a good one, by the way -, and I can infiltrate the environment as soon as we have a plan and competent people backing us up."

"It was Near that came up with the idea" said Light, smiling softly.

Beyond chuckled. "Smart kid, that one. It runs in the family."

Silence fell, leaving the two in a companionable quiet.

"I'm glad you're here, Beyond."

* * *

The next day, at ten in the morning, Light called his boss.

He had to endure a tirade about _not thinking about work right now_ and _should be resting!_ before he could explain that he had called to know about any kind of update in the case.

Aizawa was tight-lipped about it, and Light knew immediately that something had gone wrong.

"Just tell me" Light eventually snapped, his tone almost demanding, laced with fear.

The Chief didn't even bother to put him in his place, relying the news.

Beyond, that was sleeping sprawled on the couch in the living room, was rudely startled awake by an enraged shout of "Bastard!", before a voice flew through the air and shattered on the wall, one meter from him.

He rubbed his eyes, blinking slowly, and took in the sight of Light, red in the face and with wild eyes, pacing up and down the room, muttering curses and insults under his breath.

"What happened?" he asked, not even trying to approach the fuming man.

"Your fucking brother happened!" Light shouted, probably waking up Mikami, judging from the sudden thud coming from upstairs.

"L?" asked again Beyond, not understanding. He stretched, suppressing a yawn and sliding to the floor in a languid movement, his body still too bleary to stand up.

"Yes, the fucker. He didn't take the case."

Mikami came down the stairs, catching the last couple of phrases.

"Your department asked L's collaboration?" he inquired, brushing his hair away from his forehead.

Beyond eyed him from the floor, filling his eyes with his figure, more naked that he had ever seen – now, if those underwear and T-shirt would just fall off….

"Yes, and the asshole refused. God, I really want to punch his face…" Light muttered, grinding his teeth.

And Beyond had a _wonderful_ idea.

"Light, there's a gym nearby?"

* * *

Light was punching a… well, a punching bag. His knuckles hit the thing hard, making it swing away before coming back.

It was satisfying in a weird way, and took note to thank Beyond for the idea, the man being in another room of the big establishment.

He just shut his mind, losing himself to the familiar motions.

Right, left, right again, left. His arms were slightly hurting, but he didn't care. The world had narrowed to three points, his two hands and the bloody bag.

Sweat coated his arms, outlining his muscles, gained from hours and hours of hand-to-hand combat training learned in America as an obligatory requirement of police job. His sleeveless shirt clung to his torso, and his hair took a darker color near his neck.

He would have kept his furious pace, but a hand startled him out of his mindless exercise.

Beyond was behind him, sweaty as him, his knuckles red, but he was grinning widely, looking excited.

"I found out they have a boxing ring. Want to see if we're still good at the martial arts the Institute taught us?"

Three minutes later they had already gained a crowd around them. Not that they noticed.

Their eyes were trained on the other, carefully tracing his movements, their minds coming up with strategies and plan to be discarded soon after.

They weren't fighting. It wasn't about fight, about hurting the other.

They were dancing, avoiding the other, circling and jumping and throwing punches that never hit skin. Feet left the ground, legs were used as leverage to bring the other down, to near the other just to see him escape and appear, seemingly from thin air, behind him, and they had to duck quickly.

They were a perfect match, combining different styles into a deadly dance. They never hit the other, knowing that this was a friendly spar, but they both had the desire to win, the fire in their eyes, a feral grin on their lips.

It ended with a single mistake from Light's part, instead of a lack of skill or slower movements.

He simply stretched too much his abdominal muscles, and after twenty minutes of mock fight, he went down, a sharp and burning sting in his belly robbing him of his strength and making him cry out softly.

Beyond stopped, giving him a look, before shushing the people around them away, giving Light privacy and time to recover.

"You won" Light said, still on his knees on the blue mat, his chest heaving with fatigue. He swiped the sweat from his forehead with a hand, grimacing at the wet feeling on his skin.

"We're even" Beyond rectified, and his piercing gaze left room to no arguments.

* * *

That evening they gathered around the kitchen table. It was time to decide what to do.

"We can't search for Near alone" stated Mikami, his glasses perched on his nose.

"I haven't been able to gain anything from the data, and Beyond here doesn't specialize in detective work, if I remember correctly" Light waited for Beyond's nod before continuing. "I'm too involved in the case to have a clear and unaffected view. We will need something new, that hasn't heard the case's details before. And we need them _now_. My son doesn't have too much time. Hell, I don't even know if he's alive" he dictated, closing his hands in fists to hide the trembling.

"We need L" said Beyond quietly, earning a frustrated golden gaze.

"L already rejected the case."

"L didn't know you are involved" insisted B, twirling a silver knife between his fingers. "I know my twin, and I was there when you left. If you call him, he comes _running_. He was smitten back in the days, and I bet my eyes he still is."

Light eyed Beyond, noting the confidence in his posture and the lazy smirk on his lips.

His pride was screaming at him to look for another solution. To admit his need for L's help was a failure.

But his son was more important than all of his pride, more important than the questions L would ask him.

He didn't say anything. He got up and went to take his laptop.

While Mikami fetched some sandwiches for the three of them, Light turned the computer on, feeling Beyond's watchful gaze on his face.

"How will you contact him?" he inquired, his fingertips tracing the blade's edge.

"I will have to hack into Wammy's… well, I think it's L's now, satellite. It isn't too hard because most of the world doesn't even know it's there, so the security is not too tight. I've done this before" explained Light, his fingers flying familiarly on the keys in front of him, the light of the screen turning his golden eyes to a disturbing shade of grey.

"I didn't know that" Beyond blinked his eyes, interested. "I admit I'm not really interested in technology, but I know the basis. What will you do from there?"

"Well, every server that hooks that specific satellite has its information stored under the form of codes. I just need to find the code of the main server at Wammy's, and follow it back to its location."

"Brilliant" the other breathed, grinning up at Mikami when the other man put a plate in front of him. While he munched on the bread – with strawberry jam! He was going to marry Mikami, he decided – he focused again his attention on Light, who hadn't touched his meal, still working furiously through streams of code. "And then? You will need to hack into Wammy's server, right? That will be hard, since it contains the orphans' files. I don't think the old man would let precious info be stolen easily."

"You're right" Light grinned, his eyes dancing, enjoying the activity. He had always loved this part of the technology. "Wammy's server is one of the most protected in the world. I'm a damn good hacker, and I don't think I would succeed. But I don't need to."

Beyond blinked, lost. "You don't?"

"No, I don't" the grin on Light's face was giddy. "Never underestimate an old director's laziness. Roger never changes the password. It still is the same one they gave me when I was still there."

* * *

"Matt, want to go outside?"

"Matt, could you please pay attention to me?"

"Maaatt, Mattieeeeeeee"

"MAAAAAAAAAATTTT"

"Mello, I swear, if you don't stop screaming right now I will hide your chocolate stash. You will never find it again."

That shut the blond up. For a minute.

"Matt, I'm booooored"

Matt lifted his eyes from the screen, ready to retort. His blond roommate was hanging upside down from the desk, his yellow air drifting through the air.

"Jesus, read a book or something" Matt snapped, reaching out blindly towards the cigarette pack, extracting one with his nimble fingers and bringing it to his lips. A snap of his lighter and a cloud of smoke entered his lungs, making him sigh in contentment.

"How disgusting!" the annoying voice exclaimed, making him roll his eyes. "Now the room is going to stink!"

"Open the door."

"But I'll have to get up!"

Matt chose to ignore the last comment, setting his eyes back on the files he was downloading. It was almost done, and in a few minutes he could terminate the connection. He was quite anxious. The more time he spent connected to the server he had hacked in, the more the possibilities of being caught were rising.

With a gentle chime, his laptop ended the download, and he cut off the connection, feeling pride swell in his chest.

Then, his screen went dark. On it, green lines of code began to appear.

"Fuck!" he shouted, almost dropping the cigarette. He began to type furiously, overlooking the concerned questions of his roommate. The code multiplied, strings of it beginning to connect and complete themselves. "Fuck! I've been hacked! The Institute's server should be secure!"

"Language, young man" said a voice, coming from the laptop speaker. It had a perfect British accent, if not a bit rusty. Slowly, the screen came back to light, shoving a man sitting on a table in what seemed a kitchen. The golden eyes of the stranger were laughing. "A beautiful child like you should not say such foul words. And to answer your question, the Institute's server _is_ secure, to all the ones who don't have the password."

Matt blushed hearing the praise, feeling keenly the absence of his beloved goggles. Before he could answer, a blond bullet threw himself on the bed next to him, starting to shout questions. "We say what the fuck we want, you fucker! And who the hell are you?!"

The man frowned. "Now, that was just rude " he reprimanded, obviously displeased.

"I apologize for my friend here" Matt stepped in, ignoring the glare from Mello. "What he was saying is: Who are you, sir? And how you managed to get the password to the server?"

"Now, that's a polite young man. I will answer your curiosity" the man grinned like the cat that got the canary. "The most charming director in the world, Roger, is too lazy. He hasn't changed the password in ages. I suggest you correct his mistake, someone more malicious than me could have taken precious info" he seemed to look meaningfully off the screen, then laughed and dodged what seemed a piece of bread. "So, former residents know the password, and this goes back to me. You can call me Kira" the man finished with a winning smile.

Matt blinked, his green eyes widening, his expression reflected on his friend's face. The blond started firing questions at once. "Kira? The Kira?! The one who was leading the Competition with L?!"

The man, Kira, opened his mouth to answer, when a voice cut him off. "I thought you had a goal, _Kira_ " the stranger said, rounding the table and coming to stand near to the former second ranked genius, his red eyes peering at the teens.

Matt paled, taking a drag of smoke to calm himself, while Mello got red in the face. "T-That's-" the blond stuttered, his blue eyes widened with fright.

"Beyond, you're scaring the children. Go harass Mikami or something" Kira said, pushing the dark haired man gently away. Beyond got the creepiest dreamy look on his face, and, after a parting grin to the scared teenagers, walked out of the webcam's range. Matt felt sorry for that man, Mikami. "Ignore him, he likes to scare people."

"He's a serial killer" stated Matt flatly, smoking his cigarette. Mello remained silent, still scared.

"And you should not be smoking. What are you, thirteen?" inquired Kira, dodging the statement about his associate.

"I'm fourteen."

The man's eyes softened, gaining a pained expression. "I have a son two years your junior. And he's the reason I've hacked into your laptop. Sorry, by the way. None of your data will be damaged. Anyway, I need you to contact L."

"Why should we do that?" answered Mello, his blue eyes narrowed.

"Because I need him. Now."

"Hell no" Mello replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

Matt looked in the eyes of Kira, his own green orbs searching. Then he decided.

"What you need to tell him?"

* * *

L was almost putting a forkful of cake in his mouth when yelling voices reached his ears.

"We shouldn't do what he says! Who knows what he really wants to do!" said a voice, which he identified as Mello's.

"He seemed honest. And worried" answered another voice, clearly Matt's.

"So you're going to trust a random stranger because he _seems_ worried?! You're too trusting, Matt!"

"I trust my gut's instincts."

Before Mello could speak again, the doors opened, and a slightly out of breath Matt entered L's chambers.

"Explain the reason behind your presence here" commanded L, chewing around his mouthful.

"A man hacked in my laptop. Said he was Kira, and to repot to L this exact sentence: _L, get your ass in Japan right away. It's about the Child Eater case_."

L's heart skipped a beat, his breath leaving his chest in a gasp. Still, his expression remained blank.

"Tell him the creepy part!" urged Mello, clearly worried.

Matt took a breath, looking into L's eyes with unsure green eyes.

"Beyond was there."

The cake's plate fell to the floor, shattering and covering the carpet in frosting. L's eyes widened, and his hand went immediately to an intercom on the desk.

He turned around and pressed the button, speaking into the microphone.

"Watari? Prepare the jet, we're going to Japan."


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:**

Hello my lovelies! Here we are with our Friday's appointment!

I'm so exited.

Anyway, this is the last chapter I have ready, the next one is half way done. Sadly, school takes most (ALL) of my time, so I don't know if next week there will be an update. I'll try my best, of course!

Ok, stop. Now, enjoy (and let me know what you think! :P)

* * *

Near was cold. When he had been kidnapped he had been wearing a plain cotton T-shirt and pants, appropriate for his house, with the radiators warming the environment. But here, in this refuge, under the ground, in December, he was _freezing_.

He had developed a cold. He felt the roughness crawl in his throat, making his lungs heavy and his body sluggish. He coughed, the sound echoing in that basement. He had lost sensibility in his legs, after six days sitting on the chair. The other child had stopped crying, his head dropping forward, the snot coming from his nose dripping on his shirt.

How disgusting.

Near grimaced, trying to shift a little. His mind felt full of cotton, his thoughts slow and confusing.

He had a fever, of course, so the general tiredness was to be expected. It didn't mean he had to _like_ it.

The man had kept coming every day, giving them the basic amount of food and water to survive, and then going away, not saying anything. Near could feel his frustration surround him, amplified by his silence and the growing heaviness of his steps on the metal staircase.

The man was tired of waiting, of course. But it had been a mere week. Near had calculated that another week at least was needed for things to settle in the black market.

So, he had another week to live. Another week of time for his mother to find him.

He trusted his parent, of course, but he had never been this vulnerable.

He felt his mortality crawl in his bones, and he was, for the first time in his life, scared.

He could die.

Death. Oblivion.

No more thoughts, no more puzzles, no more loving embraces that he didn't need but he secretly wanted.

He had always known, of course, that he was mortal. That his life was an idle thing, so easy to break. But it had always been a concept, like the existence of a God watching impartially over the world. He hadn't had the proof, so he had dismissed it.

But now…

In a week, he could die.

In the dark, with no one that could hear him, Near whimpered softly.

* * *

The journey had been quick.

That was a first for him, because planes had limited space he could explore, a certain numbers of seats that he could crouch on, and they were noisy. Even the best jet money could afford made some kind of sound.

All these things had always unsettled him, and had used the flight's hours to catch up with some sleep.

He hadn't been able to, this time. He had stared at the air in front of him, sweets forgotten, from Gatwick to Narita.

Light had contacted him. Well, had contacted Matt, but the concept was the same.

After twelve years of silence, of solitude, of _loss_ , the other had made his appearance, startling him out of the cocoon of monotony he had surrounded himself with.

It felt like a déjà vu.

L remembered the first time he had seen the teen that later had stolen his heart.

He had been walking down the corridors of the Institute, bored out of his mind. He had already done his 'homework', had read all the books in the library, sparred with Beyond, stared at Alternative and annoyed the hell out of Roger. He hadn't known what to do, so he had been going to the kitchen. Eating cake was a good way to pass the time.

The doors had opened, and after Wammy an eleven years old had walked in, covered in dried blood and with rust colored hair covering his eyes.

The old inventor had greeted him, and feeling the presence of another human being the stranger had looked up.

They had stared at each other for minutes, evaluating the other person as a threat or an ally.

L remembered that he had been captivated by that golden gaze, the haunted look of it, and the hidden spark of intelligence at the bottom of those pools.

He hadn't even listened to Wammy's poor excuse of introductions.

"There's an empty bed in my room" he had said, and walked away.

Two hours later they had been the best of friends, the most vicious of rivals, the closest of confidants – or so L had thought, but he hadn't been able to discover what had happened that night at Light's family, and years later he hadn't known why the teen had felt the need to disappear, to go away from him.

And now, he was going to meet him again.

L stared out of the tinted window of the car – limousine, because he wanted his comfort thank you very much, and he had too much money anyway -, noting absently that he hadn't even noticed the landing, or getting out of the plane. He had been deep inside his mind, reviving all those moments with Light, their fights, solving cases, making love…

He wasn't a romantic man by nature, he had never been. Most people these days that knew him – or had worked with him while he hided behind a computer screen – had described him as a 'heartless bastard'.

He agreed, of course. He had given his heart to someone only often in his life, and that man had gone away. It was really so strange that he had grown cold in all these years?

But now, _now._

He felt a gnawing hunger grow in his being, a need to know, a deep longing for a closure.

He wanted so much to take Light and shake him, yell at him demanding answer, _kiss_ him.

But Light had summoned him in Japan for a _case_ , of all things. L was still confused about that. Light was a genius, so why didn't he…

L blinked, looking around.

When had they arrived to the hotel? His eyes rested on the huge windows taking up one of the four walls, Tokyo's skyline open for him to see. The rest of the room was luxurious as always, with too much space for just one person and comfy looking armchairs and couches scattered around.

L thumbed the phone in his pocket. Through Matt, Light had given him his number, instructing him to text the address as soon as he was settled in his chosen hotel.

The urgency had baffled him, but if Light felt this anxious probably the situation was serious enough to force his hand, like it had happened.

So L fished his phone out and opened it, his thumb flying on the buttons in autopilot, ready to digit. Then he stopped.

He turned, looking sheepishly at Watari behind him, the old man setting equipment all around the rooms.

"Hem, what's the address?"

* * *

The night before, after Light had ended the video feed with Wammy's and they had all gone to sleep, Beyond had woken four hours later, disoriented and thirsty. He had padded in the kitchen, fetching a glass of water and drinking it, while checking the time on the silver clock on the wall.

It was four in the morning.

Beyond sighed, put his glass on the table and exited the room, ready to stretch himself again on 'his' couch and go back to dream land. He had passed the staircase, blinked, and looked up, listening intently.

Then he had smirked deviously, slowly creeping up the stairs.

Light had been woken two hours later by a startled yell and a dull thud, like a body hitting the ground. He had blinked, yawned, and stood up, opening the door and brought his head to the door, just in time to see the back of a fuming Mikami, muttering about 'creepy stalkers' and 'killers that snuck in his bed while he's asleep'. He blinked, smiled and shook his head, closing again the door.

It was too early to deal with Beyond's silliness.

* * *

"I don't understand why he feels the need to harass me" ranted Mikami, waving his hands around and making a mess out of his hair.

Light chuckled, stirring the soup in its pot. "I think that, in his weird and creepy way, he's trying to catch your attention."

"I hadn't noticed" muttered sarcastically the other, leaning against the fridge. He had taken off his glasses, and his dark green eyes were narrowed. "He has my attention alright; it's not like I can let him go around without supervision. Who knows what he will do" he ranted, messing again his hair. "I just don't understand why me!"

"You're really clueless, aren't you?" asked Light, preparing to plates, which he then brought to the table.

Mikami sat down, staring at him. "You know why?"

"Of course I know why. Hell, even Matsuda would notice it. He likes you."

"Well, I don't. I don't see why he has to keep on making disturbing things. This morning I found him sleeping _naked_ all over me!"

"He wants to get in your pants."

Mikami spluttered, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "But I don't like him!"

"He does."

"I don't! I _hate_ him."

"Close enough" winked Light, standing up and making his way towards his phone, who had chimed.

He had a new message from an unknown number.

He opened it, and almost dropped the phone. He turned towards Mikami, resisting the urge to just run out of the door.

"Come on, we have to go. L's in Tokyo."

* * *

Light was nervous.

He was fidgeting in the passenger seat of the car, too distracted to drive. Mikami had then insisted to drive him to the hotel, not commenting on his restless behavior.

He felt as if his entrails were turning to stone, knotting themselves heavy and restricting around his stomach. He was suddenly grateful that the message had arrived before he had managed to eat more than two spoonful of soup. He was nauseous, and felt the urge to throw up – what he didn't know, since he hadn't eaten practically anything that day.

His hands were clamped on the case's folder, the copy he had made back when Near was still with him and he had wanted to stay with him more, but still try to stop that cursed murderer…

The hotel was luxurious and bright, attracting attention. There was a red carpet leading to the entrance, and all that ostentation made Light snort loudly, his contempt reflected in his friend's face, while they entered. It was too pompous, and not like L at all.

But he couldn't know, could he? He hadn't seen the man for twelve years and for all he knew he could have become a blond pop star.

The laugh that escaped his mouth was hysteric, earning strange and haughty looks from the other guests, who stayed clear of him.

In the elevator Light had to lean on the wall, panic flashing on his face.

God, how could he face the man he had left, the man who didn't even know he had a son, the same child who was missing?

Mikami brushed against his shoulder, and Light nodded to himself, trying to collect himself. They were there for Near. The matter of his and L's relationship could wait.

He closed off his expression, a blank mask sliding on his face, and faced the doors. When they opened, he was the embodiment of professionalism.

Wammy was waiting for them.

"Kira, I find you well" the old man said, his lips curling in what Light knew was disgust.

"Likewise" he answered, following the retreating man down the hallway.

Mikami was a silent presence behind him, silent and watchful. They stopped in front of a nondescript door, on which Wammy knocked.

The man who opened the door was nothing like the teenager he remembered. He was a little taller than Light, his shoulders broad and squared, but still lean and elegant. His hair was the same rat nest as always, and his eyes were looking right at Light with an intensity that made him lose his breath.

"Thank you, Watari" the smooth voice said, his depth making shivers run down Light's spine.

 _Focus_ , he said to himself, stepping into the room, barely hearing the door close.

Silence.

An uncomfortable awkwardness was between them, and Mikami cleared his throat slightly, stepping around him and looking at L.

"I have to leave, but since Light's didn't have a photo for the last child, I brought the only one I have ever made of him."

That shook Light out of his stillness. "What? But he doesn't like photos! That's why I couldn't give anything to my team!" he argued.

"I know, that's why I took him by surprise."

"And you never made me see it?"

"You will see it soon enough. Anyway, I have to go. L, it was a pleasure to see you again."

Mikami smiled at the nod from L and left the room, leaving the two of them alone.

They stared at each other, either of them not managing to remove their eyes from the other.

"You've grown" said Light.

"You too. I…" L blinked, and shook his head, turning and sitting in one of the armchairs, his knees drawn to his chest like always. "I won't ask you why you left" he stated, his eyes closing for a second before settling again on Light. "Why Beyond is here?"

Light blinked, not expecting the question. "Beyond?"

"Yes. I've been tracking him for years. You know he has killed people, right?"

He winched, sitting down on one of the couches, facing the other. "Yeah, I actually hadn't seen him for seven years before he showed up. He's here for the same reason I need your help."

L gestured him to continue. "There's been a person, probably male, that kidnapped children and killed them, taking their organs. We got a lead, and the newspaper somehow reported that I had had the idea. My son disappeared soon after" explained Light, clenching his hands.

L blinked, then stood up. "Tell me everything. In detail."

* * *

Beyond was lounging shirtless on the couch, bored out of his mind. When he heard the front door open he stood up, grinning up at Mikami.

"Welcome back home, honey" he said teasingly, earning a glare from the other. "Where's Light-o?" he asked, following the older man up to his room, leaning then against the doormat.

"With L" Mikami answered, beginning to undress.

"Pity, I wanted to be there" muttered absently Beyond, his eyes trained on the other's ass.

"Stop staring. And what are you doing in my room again?" asked Mikami, sitting on the bed with only his underwear. He looked around for his tracksuit.

"Admiring the view" replied Beyond, moving towards him.

"Beyond, really, you have to stop" insisted Mikami, looking up at the man towering over him. "I just don't li-"

He was cut off by a pair of soft lips on his own, hands sliding softly through his hair. They were insistent, pressing against his mouth, parting slightly to let a tongue through set on probing and asking entrance. He struggled, but Beyond held him in place, a soft growl emanating from his chest.

A harsh nip on his bottom lips, a gasp, and that tongue was inside his mouth, brushing his teeth, coaxing slowly his own to answer. Mikami felt his resolve crumble, relaxing and starting to enjoy the kiss.

They lost themselves in each other, parting only when they had to breathe. Beyond had straddled Mikami, feeling giddiness explode in his chest and a fire start in his loins, making him jerk slightly forward, encountering a similar hardness and moaning, breaking the kiss.

"This doesn't mean anything" muttered Mikami in his ear, kissing then down his neck while undoing his jeans buttons, and he smirked, standing up to remove the annoying cloth.

Before he could go back to his position he was backed up against one of the wall, a hand insistently pushing down his underwear and cupping his backside, while his head was tilted upward to receive another kiss.

He then felt naked skin against his own, making him moan and realize that he had spaced out, lost in the act. Their cocks slid against each other, and Beyond arched his back, a desperate mewl leaving his throat, and he widened his red eyes, embarrassed at the sound.

Mikami chuckled in his ear, nipping the lobe, his fingers probing along the edge of his anus. "When was the last time you've done something like this?" he was asked, a hand wrapping around his left knee to lift his leg around the other's waist.

"I don't remember" he breathed, his hips grinding down against the tip of the finger that had entered him, wanting more of the delicious feeling. "Too long."

"You're tight" muttered Mikami against his neck, and Beyond grabbed his shoulders, liking the feeling of being manhandled. The finger entered him fully, the slight burn making his cock twitch, a drop of precome coming out of the tip.

"Go on, I like the pain" he reassured him, relaxing his muscle and swallowing more of that finger that just wasn't _enough_. He grinded forward, kissing the other's throat. "Come on, give me more!"

He felt the sigh against his hair, and then another finger was pushed him, the dryness making pain shot up his spine, and he grinned, moans escaping his mouth as those digits searched inside him, the knuckles stretching him wider with each stroke. The third finally joined the other, and he gave a startled throaty shout when they pushed in roughly, pressing against his prostate. His eyes rolled and he moaned, his breath picking up. They kept stretching, massaging his sweet spot in ways that almost made him orgasm just then.

"I'm ready, please…" he pleaded, and sighed in relief feeling those fingers retreat, his widened muscles constricting around the emptiness, before he was grabbed by his thighs and hoisted up, the tip of Mikami's cock against his hole. He hooked his legs on the other's hips, his nails digging in his shoulders when he was lowered, the larger circumference making him hiss in pain. But he kept moving his pelvis downward, wanting the entire piece of flesh inside of him.

When Mikami bottomed out Beyond opened his eyes, seeing dark green orbs staring right at him, the pupils blown with lust. He wondered what the other was seeing. His lips were swollen, a flush had risen along his neck on his cheeks, and he knew his eyes had darkened.

The first thrust took him by surprise, a strangled sound escaping his mouth, feeling his back slide on the wall and his hands fighting for purchase, settling then for a shoulder and around the neck. Mikami's cock pushed inside him, the friction making him pant and whine, his head thrown against the wall behind him. Lips traced his neck, licking the sweat forming there while the other fucked him, his movements speeding slightly and settling in a rhythm that made his head spin.

Beyond moaned when his prostate was brushed again, losing control over his mouth, that slackened and hanged open, groans filling the air. "There!" he managed to say, one of his hands sliding through Mikami's hair, who nodded and drew him into a kiss, dominating his mouth and thrusting again against his sweet spot, over and over again.

His breath speeded up again, feeling the warmth coil in his belly, tighter by the second. Mikami's lips were on his throat, sucking on the skin and creating a dark purple hickey, and the thought of the mark of ownership made him fall over the edge with a high-pitched moan against the other's hair, his come splattering on their stomachs.

Beyond's body relaxed, and he barely managed to hang on with his arms, his legs slowly sliding down and being held by the other's hands on his thighs, the fingers pressing against the flesh, probably leaving bruises. Mikami groaned lowly in his ear, his pelvis jerking unsteadily and his thrusts turning erratic, the motions rough against him, before he stiffened and emptied his load inside him, pushing Beyond one last time against the wall. Then the older man lowered the other gently to his feet, his softened cock leaving the snug channel with a squelchy sound.

Beyond felt tired and deeply satiated, a goofy smile making its presence known on his lips while he leaned against the other, feeling come trickle slowly from his backside down one of his thigh in a very satisfying manner. He looked up at Mikami, who was watching him intently, half carrying him to his bed.

The mattress felt wonderful under him, and he sighed happily, snuggling in the covers and tugging the older man over him, liking the feeling of being pinned down. He nosed on his neck, feeling Mikami snort in his ear and cover him with a blanket against the December's chill.

"This was a one-time-only thing" muttered Mikami, settling down comfortably and resting his head on the pillow beside his ear.

"Whatever you say" mumbled back Beyond, a lazy satisfied smile on his full lips, before his tired eyes closed and he fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:**

I was going through my pen drives (the one I use for school collapsed suddenly, so I had to choose one of my others) and I saw the file of this fic.

It had been a while since I had opened the document with the intention to write, and I though I had uploaded all the finished chapters.

How wrong I was! This little one was sitting silently at the bottom, full of words and angst and little things, and I had totally forgot about it.

So you all who are reading this have my deepest apologies. I have no excuses.

For the next updates, I can't tell you anything certain. School is killing me, and I have to go to Bruxelles for a project in November, so I'm pretty busy.

The next chapter is half done, so when I have free time (what a foreign concept for my teachers) I'll try to finish it.

Anyway, enjoy! (And post me a little review, will yah?)

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

"The black market theory is a good one, I have to admit. And judging from the killer's backlash, we will find the solution to the case following this lead. You had a good idea, Light" said L, wheeling around the chair to look at him from his position at the desk, surrounded by computer screens displaying all the data.

Light looked up from the paper copies of the same data he was looking into – and what a useless thing to do that was, since he had spent the last week on those files and hadn't come up with anything – and smiled sadly. "It hadn't been my idea; the newspaper got that thing wrong. It was actually Near who figured it out" he explained, stretching his back a bit.

L blinked, startled. "And your son is what, twelve years old? He must be really clever then, to think about that solution without any kind of training."

"He is."

"He also looks quite like you, I have to say."

Light frowned for a second, and then remembered Mikami's pen drive. "You saw the photo, didn't you?"

"Yes, I admit I was quite curious. Would you like to see? I gathered that you haven't seen it, and you must miss your son."

Light stood up and approached the other man, who had turned around again and started typing on the computer's keyboard, opening some windows on the screen.

Soon after the picture opened on the monitor.

Near was on what seemed the living room's rug, both of his legs gathered to his chest and with his chin resting in the groove created between his knees. He was staring right at the camera, his expression blank as always but still managing to transmit the surprise he had felt at being caught on camera. His eyes were dark grey, big and shiny, the sharp spark of his intellect shining through. One of his hand was playing with a strand of his white hair, and the other was lifted forward, a piece of white puzzle held in his fingers, clearly in the act of completing the latest gift of Beyond.

They studied the photo, and after a minute L seemed to reach a decision.

"When we find him, I'd like to take him to the Institute."

Light startled, his expression guarded, not knowing the other's goal. "Why?"

"He should be tested. From what you have told me, he has potential to be great. I bet he's bored most of the time, isn't him?" inquired L, tracing his bottom lip with his thumb absently, wide eyes resting on Light, who turned and got back to the couch.

"Yes. But the decision is Near's."

"Of course, I expected nothing less. Anyway, we have to infiltrate someone in the black market in order to gain some lead on the killer."

"Mikami has sent me a message an hour ago" reported Light, secretly relieved that the conversation had shifted away from dangerous waters and had settled on the investigation. "Beyond is up and moving. He had offered to be our inside man, since he can be very convincing. He's a criminal, after all."

L's expression clouded over, his eyes darkening. "Beyond… You still haven't explained why he's here."

"I told you. He heard my son was kidnapped and showed up to offer his help."

"But I don't understand how he knew you had a son, and how you called yourself and where you were, for that matter."

Light winched a bit, stretching his leg under the low table in front of him, loosening slightly the tie around his neck. "We met seven years ago in Los Angeles. And before you ask" he added seeing the look L had given him. "That was before he killed those people there. I didn't even know he was a killer, it's not like I kept tabs on the Institute and its habitants." He deliberately ignored the other's near imperceptible wince. "Anyway, he saw me walk down the street, followed me, showed himself to our door that evening, and met my son. We moved soon after because of a promotion of mine, and headed to Japan. We didn't see him all these seven years, and I think he guessed that we were here. For my name, I'm using the same alias I went under there, so it wasn't that hard to find me."

During his speech Watari had entered the room, pushing a food cart inside the room. He silently served the two their tea, listening in.

"I think Beyond sees Near as family" Light twisted a little the truth, knowing Beyond's preference of calling Near 'dear nephew' every time he could.

The old man snorted, finding something amusing. "He probably saw himself in you, Kira" he spoke, drawing L and Light's attention.

"What do you mean?" inquired the latter, his eyes narrowed.

"It takes a killer to know one, _Kira_."

Light's nostrils flared, his already worry-strained temper snapping under the strain of years of verbal implications and scorn. He almost slammed his teacup on the table, glaring up at the inventor with fire in his golden eyes. "I'm tired of this resentment you have for me, Wammy. I want to know why you think I'm a killer" he dictated, overlooking L's presence, too pissed to see the startled look the detective had sported.

Wammy took his time sitting on the armchair in front of him, his contempt for Light written in every line of his face. "I remember you that night. I'd met you and your father at a conference I had made on the future possibility of the creation of A.I.s, and your curious questions had interested him, since they were too clever for an eleven years old. So imagine my surprise when, on the late trip back to my hotel, I saw a boy totally covered in blood walk down the street. Even under all that gore I recognized you. And when I approached, and asked you whose blood that was, you said it was your family's, and they were all dead. I whisked you away to England straight away, of course. Your intellect was smart enough to tolerate your criminal record, since you were that young. But my policy is 'once a criminal, always a criminal', so I kept an eye on you, even when you left the Institute."

L started in his chair, turning accusing eyes on the old man. "Why have I not been informed of all this?" he asked, his smooth voice cold and accusing.

Wammy looked at him, ignoring the figurative hole in his head made by Light's furious gaze. "You seemed so caught up in his charm, that you wouldn't have believed me. Anyway, when Kira left, I thought it was the best for all of us. I watched him for afar, of course, but he never made a wrong step, apart for the creation of fake IDs and bank account, but those were necessary, so I overlooked that."

"You never asked me what happened that night" Light stepped in before L could open his mouth, his expression cold as stone, his eyes fixed on the older man. "You just _assumed_ I had killed my family! You treated me with contempt for years, because you thought me guilty without proofs!"

"I had met your family, Kira" insisted Wammy, his eyes steely from behind the glasses he was wearing. "Your father was a good man, and a good Chief, and your mother was the kindest woman I have ever met. Who else was there? Your sister? She was seven year old."

"But you never even tried to find out what happened, Quillsh" L said, standing up to approach the food chart. He took out a plate of cookies, putting one in his mouth.

"You would have thought the same thing, L."

"No, I wouldn't" remarked L, his voice muffled around his mouthful. "I don't know what really happened, and I too saw Light covered in blood when you brought him in – it was cruel of you not to let him have a shower, by the way -, but unlike you I never jumped to conclusions. I asked Light countless times what had happened, and he said he didn't remember, and I believed him. I know him, and while he might be capable of murder" he avoided Light's incredulous gaze and his loud protest. "He's not one to deny his actions when he knew he wasn't going to be prosecuted if he had killed someone. He simply had no reason to hide. Of course, if he really killed his family, he probably had a good reason for it" he concluded, biting into a cookie with satisfaction.

"It's always beautiful to know you hold me in so high esteem" muttered Light at him angrily, earning a crumbs-covered smile that almost made him smile in spite of his anger. "And I really couldn't remember. Until seven years ago, when I returned to Japan. I had to know what happened, so I went to my old house. It's still empty, by the way" he said, blinking his eyes and looking at the old inventor dead on, his voice serious. "I didn't kill anyone that night, Wammy. You'd met my family just once, so you couldn't know that my father was burdened by his work, never coming back home, practically living in his office. You haven't heard my mother cry at night because all her and my father could do was fight, over and over again, on his work and his absence from his children's lives. I had adapted of course, and I was used to being without parental support, but Sayu was little, and I knew she was suffering too."

Light paused to take a sip of tea, feeling L's intense gaze heavy on himself. Wammy's face was blank, the contempt gone from his face but still watching him with hostility. Talking felt difficult, his throat threatening to close at every word he said, but he had to get this thing off his chest. They had to know. "The situation was tense. I knew it, of course, but I had always been a little distant from my parents, so I didn't care. Sayu was another matter altogether. She was my little sister, bubbly and always excited and clever in her own way. She was hurting, and I tried to make it better. I tried to talk to my father, but he wouldn't listen. 'These are adults' matters, Raito' he had said, dismissing me. He saw me as his perfect son, who didn't cause problems, who didn't ask questions, who didn't go against him. I was a model, not a human being. So my opinion didn't count, because it had to be identical to his own, and for him _Justice_ came first. Even before his family."

Light felt like crying and laughing at once. "They say that Japanese culture is restrictive and stifling. Or maybe he didn't know how to cope with the rising tension. He just snapped, one day. Work was harder than ever, he had been sleeping on a chair for _months_ , and the arguments with my mother were more frequent, twice a day was the usual. He came home."

Light remembered it all. The door opening, Sayu's excited shout of 'Daddy's home!', the fretting of his mother toward the door. Only he had remained behind. He had felt it in the air, the strangeness of the situation. Something wasn't right.

"He had a gun. Sayu was the first to run to him, and she was the first to go down."

His sister hadn't even realized the situation. And with a gunshot she was gone, lying like a broken doll on the ground, her face mangled and unrecognizable.

Light was a genius. He had known since he was seven, when everyone around him didn't seem to understand him, to reach him. He knew now that he couldn't have done anything again a grown adult and a gun. That situation hadn't been one that he could have solved with clever answers and quick estimates. But he still felt that he should have had done something. He had just stayed there, at the bottom of the stairs, watching with wide eyes while his sister was killed, his mother's horrified screaming echoing in his ear.

He remembered thinking 'When had this gone all wrong? When had this escalated so quickly that I couldn't predict this outcome?'

"My mother had run towards me, and she was within arm distance when the bullet reached her."

Sprays of blood had covered him, and he still hadn't moved. After the first seconds that he had needed to process Sayu's dead he had felt detached, and even his mother's body hadn't shaken him from what he now recognized as shock. He had looked into the crazed eyes of his father, and he had seen for the first time the lethal descent of a mind into madness.

"By then my father had reached me, but he didn't manage to kill me. I was his trophy, he couldn't destroy the best masterpiece he had created" a choked sob escaped him, and he hated himself, trying to collect his mask, to recompose himself. He looked at Wammy, who had a horrified expression on his face. Light stood up.

"He shot himself in the head. That's why I was covered in gore when you found me. Now, I need to use the bathroom. Please, excuse me" he concluded, making his way out of the door and towards the loo.

He had shared his family's last moments; he would be damned before he would let them see him cry.

* * *

The sound of the door closing after Light seemed to shake the other two occupants of the room.

L blinked, standing up and making his way over to the glass window behind the chair.

The blood on Light the first time he had seen him had intrigued him, and he had been skeptic when the eleven years old, after months of living together and growing closeness, had told him that he didn't remember anything. But he had seen those eyes, and they had been sincere. So he had reached the conclusion that something really bad had happened to make Light's mind reject the memories so thoroughly. Until now, he had thought about a criminal taking their revenges on Light's father, or a car crash. The idea of the father being the culprit hadn't crossed his mind. He had made his researches, of course, when he was sure that Light was asleep in his cocoon of blankets, his curiosity too strong to make him let the matter go. He had found an impeccable record of a perfect family: a good Chief, a caring mother, a brilliant son and an average little girl.

He had forgot that every perfect family had its skeletons in the closet. That nothing is what it appears to be.

L heard a tired and drawn out sigh behind him, and turned in time to see Wammy rub his tired eyes, his old face wearing a defeated expression.

"You should apologize" he said quietly, his voice low.

"I asked him, that night, what had happened" the inventor whispered, looking at his 'employer'. "And when he said he didn't remember, I didn't believe him. The mind rejects memories when something happens that it isn't able to understand, or bear. And Light was the very example of geniality – not like you, L, you and your brother were the hidden kind, the one you had to bring out or it would never show."

"Beyond and I were raised by a mother who loathed people smarter than her. We had to hide our genius in order to survive. Light was different. He grew up in a family that admired him so much that all they saw was his intelligence. He had to always display his quick mind, because they wouldn't have loved him otherwise."

"That's why I didn't believe him. His mind was too sharp to just… forget something."

"You made the same mistake the worlds makes when confronted with people like us: we're people, not machines. We feel, we hurt, we _bleed_. And because we are so sharp, so clever, we see the true nature of the world, and we moderate our behavior to better fit our environment. Geniuses use masks because the world would reject them if it saw the sheer potential that's inside. We see _too much_. Light's mind protected him from hurting, and it permitted him to live his teenager years normally, without the burden of such trauma on his shoulders."

Wammy sighed again. "His expression was so cold that I just…"

"Of course he was cold" L gave a humorless laugh. "He couldn't let you, a stranger, see the utter confusion and fear he probably was feeling. He couldn't be seen as _weak_ , or the proverbial wolves would have shredded him to pieces. Everyone is a potential threat for the knowing mind."

The inventor stayed silent, and the detective got back to his skyline watching.

"Something in particular you would like for dinner?" asked Watari in his professional voice, diverting the conversation like L had expected him to do.

"Surprise me."

The old men made to leave the room when he noticed the picture on the screen of one of the computer.

"That is Kir-Light's son?" he asked, moving closer to look better.

"Yes, Nate River. Twelve years old."

"Strange."

L turned around, frowning, noting the other's puzzled expression, the brown eyes fixed on the boy's face.

"What's strange?" he asked, looking back at the picture. He didn't see anything wrong.

"It's just…" the man hesitated, his finger lifting and tracing Near's eyes and nose. "Those are clearly Light's, of course, but the ears… the roundness of the face, the chin and lips…" he traced the parts while he talked, a deep crease of confusion on his forehead.

"I don't see anything wrong" L said, blinking. He was getting confused. "The round face is typical of a child, since the baby fat hasn't gone away yet…"

"I know that, it's just…" Wammy shook his head, straightening, before pursuing his mouth. "I remember Light when he was eleven. Even for a child his face was sharp and angular. Those traits, instead… They remember me of someone else's childhood face. It's just impossible."

"Whose face?"

The old man looked at L dead in the eyes. "Yours."

* * *

Mikami was not an anxious man.

He believed in the power of thinking things through, of patience and serenity. His motto was 'time heals everything'. For this reason, he didn't believe in love. It was an emotion not fully explained scientifically, a concoction of hormones and endorphins, and that particular mix could be reconnected with the desire to preserve and guarantee the survival of the species. In a few words, the instinct to fuck with the first person you found attractive.

So love was a strange thing to him. He understood the love he felt for the people he lived in – as his family, the continued proximity coupled with their quiet and smart personality had developed a feeling of fondness that, with time, had become love. This kind of love didn't cause him problems, because he understood it. It was the result of necessary social interaction.

The people he had fucked with hadn't meant anything. Maybe because he had seen them only one time, shared a pleasuring meeting of bodies, and then had gone back to his life. No attachments, no regrets.

He hadn't felt the _need_ to tie himself romantically to another person.

But Beyond. _Beyond_.

The little – not so little – fiend had kept on pestering him, had forced his presence on him for days, had flirted and pushed him so many times he had lost count.

He had been horny. Of course he had given up. He had had the need to get lied and Beyond had been there, a willing body within reach.

The sex had been mind blowing. Mikami had not known he had a sadistic steak until the night before. He was a doctor, for crying out loud. He was always careful in handling people, both at work and in his bed. To thrust into another with abandon, to grab and squeeze without holding back, to bite and _claim_ … that had been glorious.

And now he was scared.

Mikami was a man of few words. He preferred silence, quiet, and rarely talked outside of the conferences he held at various universities that asked his collaboration. He was a man of few words, and few emotions.

Fear was not something he had felt often in his life.

People were scared of spiders, insects, heights or flying. Everyone had a phobia. Mikami had one too, of course, but he wasn't troubled by it, because it was logical and quiet in the deepest corner of his mind. His phobia was like him, and like him it waited the right time to become problematic.

Mikami feared losing his mind. He was in no danger of becoming insane, of course. He feared the progressive, _natural_ deteriorating of the mind, brought by age. And since he was thirty two, he was at peace. The age of senility was far away.

The only time he had felt _true fear_ was when Near was born.

He remembered it with startling clarity, the impossibility to go to a hospital, the scalpel in his hand, the _blood_. He hadn't felt ready at all, he had feared that he would make a mistake, that he would kill his best friend and the little miracle he held in his belly.

All had gone well, of course. He had had spent the previous nine months getting ready for that day, and when emotions and fear had gripped him, threatening the entire operation, his trained mind and hand had kept going.

This time was different. He wasn't going to do a caesarian on his _male_ friend to bring a baby into this world. This was not the same kind of fear, not the same nervous intensity he felt racing through his body.

But he was scared. And he felt scared; it meant he cared for the person he was scared about, right?

He was going to kill that devil.

Mikami had been pacing the living room for the last three hours and a half, his mind running through possible scenarios, one more gruesome than the other.

 _Beyond dead._

 _Beyond found in an alley, wide-eyed and empty like those children._

 _Beyond disappearing, never to be found again._

Why had he let the other exit the house with those insane ideas in his head?

Beyond was a bomb ready to explode. Who in their right mind would send him to infiltrate the black market and ask around for children's organs?

No one. Instead, Beyond had decided on his own.

Of course he had. He was _so_ going to strangle him.

* * *

Beyond grinned widely, bouncing in place with giddy excitement, a wide empty circle around him, people having moved away after a look at his psychotic behavior.

Silly people. Scared of little old Beyond.

He exited the train at the right stop, and headed back home, humming a popular tune.

He had answers. And with L's resources, they could find his nephew.

He was so _proud_ of himself. He hadn't fucked up. He had actually helped.

Beyond's face was hurting for all his smiling when he reached Light's house. He barely had the time to ring the doorbell that the door was opened and he was grabbed, thrown inside and pushed against a wall.

Ouch.

He forgot everything about his hurting shoulder in favor of losing himself against the lips that had pressed themselves insistently against his own, smothering him in a kiss that made his toes curl. Beyond moaned, and gave a pitiful whine when those lips retreated.

One look at the pissed face of Mikami almost made him run for his life.

"I know how to find Near" he blurted out loudly, hoping to distract the other. It didn't work well.

"Then tonight we'll go to L with your information" said the other, dark green eyes narrowed.

Beyond gulped.

He then let Mikami fuck him again against the wall.

And on the kitchen table.

He had a lot of giddy energy to dispose of, after all.

* * *

Light was almost ready to call a cab and go home.

L had of course proposed for him to sleep in one of the room on that floor – because of course the other had rented the whole floor, we are talking about L after all -, so that they could keep on working in the morning, but Light wanted his bed.

Or Near's bed, since he slept there most of the nights.

Furthermore, he didn't trust his restraint.

He hadn't seen L for twelve years, and in those years he hadn't been with anyone. Having him there, more solid and handsome and… He was getting out of hand. Anyway, he didn't want to complicate things. All they had to do for now was find his son.

Then they could talk about their relationship – or lack thereof.

So, Light was ready to go home.

He had tied again his tie, smoothed down his shirt and put on his jacket, ready to go, when the door was opened.

Beyond entered, all droopy eyelids over sparkling red eyes and lazy smirk, his hands behind his head and urged in by Wammy, who was holding a gun to his head, the safety off and his finger on the trigger. Behind them came Mikami with a bored look on his face.

"I told him the gun wasn't needed, but he wouldn't listen" the doctor said, going to sit in one end of one of the couches after a pat of greeting on Light's shoulder.

"Beyond" greeted L, his face hardening and his voice falling flat.

"Brother!" the older twin grinned widely, and Light noticed that his smile had a tired edge. "Could you make the elderly army retreat? I have good news, I swear."

The brothers stared at each other, playful red clashing with dead serious dark grey, before L gave a brief nod to Wammy who, after a dirty look at Beyond, and overlooking the kiss the other sent him, retreated and closed the door behind him, leaving the four alone.

Beyond immediately bounced toward Mikami, settling down along the length of the couch, sneaking his head on the other's lap, who just huffed and left it there.

Light lifted an eyebrow. He had clearly missed something. He then saw Beyond yawn and stretch, his body settling down on the furniture in a boneless heap.

"What got you so tired?" he asked, a little concerned.

"Oh, you know, this, that, infiltrating the black market, saving kittens, having two rounds of amazing sex all around your house…" the other answered, receiving a light slap on the head from an annoyed Mikami.

"Tell them the news, so I can go to sleep" he ordered, all the emotions he had felt that day making him sluggish.

"With me, right?"

" _Beyond_."

"Oh, fine" Beyond huffed, focusing on the detectives in the room, both with a raised eyebrow and an amused expression. "I know how to find Near."

Light's thought about Beyond and Mikami's relationship flew out of his head faster than his namesake.


	8. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:**

The chapter is short, I know, but time is not my friend lately. The first part was actually written like... months ago, the second part today. I could have continued it, but I wanted to post, and it seemed a right way to stop (keeping the tension up and things like that).

Anyway, enjoy! (And let me know what you think)

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Light's heart skipped a beat. That was it. He was going to find Near.

"Tell us everything" ordered L, leaning forward in his chair, somehow managing not to fall.

Beyond gave them a grin. "Since I knew you were finally in Japan, dear brother, I decided to speed things up a bit. So I went to the criminal Japanese underground and looked around. Of course, they didn't like a stranger snooping around their area, I could be a cop, so I made myself known – because I'm a worldwide known criminal, almost everyone has heard of BB -, and of course they were awed by my shining and fascinating personality. I spun a story around about me having a son who was in dire need of an organ transplant, and with me being a criminal I couldn't bring him to the hospital. I had a doctor at hand" he winked at Mikami, who snorted. "But lungs don't exactly grow in the trees. So I used some persuasion to-"

"We all know he means _torture_ " stepped in Mikami.

"Don't be such a prude, dear. Difficult times call for heavy actions."

"I don't remember it to be exactly this way."

"Hush, let me continue my story. Anyway, I _persuaded_ them to point me to a man that could help me – I apparently _really_ needed that lung -, and I met this charming man named Higuchi – the worst kind of man, I swear -, who apparently in the last months had had a strange availability of organs. More than the usual, anyway. I met this guy, but he wasn't very nice. He wanted cash first, and he wouldn't answer my questions. So I persuaded him too. He was quite thick at first, going on about secrecy and stupid stuff like that, but I convinced him – maybe it had to do with the eye I was going to pull out of his skull…" Beyond frowned, blinking, before shrugging and moving on. "Anyway, he caved, and told me he had various suppliers, more or less lucrative. But one of them, codename Mei, supplied him with first quality organs, that in the last months had increased. So much, in fact, that Higuchi had become worried – not for the provenience of those organs, of course, but for his own safety in dealing with them. He then said that this man was his first choice because the organs he brought were taken from hospitals this man worked in. I asked some more, but he didn't know anything else, so I left and now we are here" Beyond sighed, quite pleased with himself. "And now, it's your turn, detectives. Pull something out of the figurative hat."

L immediately rolled around, his fingers reaching for his computer, while Light took a pad and a pen, eyes alight with theories and focused intellect.

"We are searching for a man who apparently works in several hospitals and is not noticed when steals organs" Light frowned, blinking. "It can't be a doctor or a nurse, because they're usually stationed just in one workplace. It can't be a patient, because they are not allowed in storage rooms. So…"

"He's part of the staff but not a doctor, nurse or telephone operator. Maybe a first aid doctor? They usually work at several hospitals, depending on the closest one at the patient's place" considered L, pulling up some lists.

"No" stepped in Mikami, resting his head on his hand, absently sliding the fingers of his other hands between Beyond's hair. "They work in the ambulance, but are not allowed to work inside the hospital. They commit the patient to the staff, conveying the injuries they had managed to notice and eventual procedures they had carried out."

"So they are out. We need someone allowed in the hospital, and known enough that they don't keep their eyes on him."

"Maybe someone who deals with the patients?" pondered L, his wide eyes fixed on a spot on the wall, thinking hard. "Mikami, who deals with the patients?"

Mikami blinked, furrowing his brows. "Well, generally nurses, and then eventually doctors, health insurance agents, other patients…"

"Health insurance agents?" Light blinked. "They have freely access to the hospitals?"

"Well, if the hospital is affiliated with a certain company, then yes. It doesn't matter if a patient is a client or not of that company, the agents have the task to make a list of names, see the ones who are not in the company's registers, and then verify if they have a health insurance at all."

"Do we have the names of the hospitals the man we are searching for works in?"

L hummed, bringing up a map signed with seven blue dots. "The Child Eater – I hate the name, by the way, it's not like he _eats_ his victims – worked in a certain radius of 200 square kilometers, in a sort of circle. This did not help your team because he made sure not to leave a significant blank area that might have revealed his location. But if we're searching for hospitals…" the detective pressed a few keys, and four red dots appeared. "In that area there are four hospitals: the Jutendo Hospital, the National Cancer Center, St. Luke's International Hospital and the Seibo Hospital*".

"And are they affiliated with specific companies?"

"Not really."

"Check anyway" suggested Mikami, drumming his fingers. "Even if they're not affiliated with one company, they have selected health assurance agents moving around from different companies. One of them might be our men."

L gave a small nod, typing quickly. With a small ping, they had their names.

"There are three that operate in that area. Katui, Nohyji and Kijituru**."

"These agents have access to clients' records, right?" asked Light in a strange voice, his eyes dark.

"Yes, of course, because they have to check the patients' insurances" relied Mikami.

"Then it's Kijituru."

L turned around, startled. "How can you be so sure?"

The other looked up at him, angry with himself. "I just realized something. I'm just so… _stupid_!" he stood up, wanting to pace and berate himself for his obvious loss of brain cells, but he suddenly had a bust of dizziness. He had to lean against the closest wall, feeling his stomach roll unpleasantly and his vision blur. He barely registered the concerned questions before a cool hand was wrapped around his elbow. He looked up, seeing the worried eyes of Mikami.

"It's best if you sit down" the doctor said, leading him back to the armchair. L hovered behind them, worried eyes settled in a blank face. Beyond, still stretched on the couch, had remained apparently asleep.

Light leaned back on the chair, blinking slowly. The dizziness still hadn't left him, but he felt fine overall.

Mikami's fingers closed around his wrist, probably checking his pulse, and he protested slightly.

"When was the last time you've eaten?" the doctor asked, and Light blinked, startled. "Because I know you hadn't eaten this morning when I brought you here, but I hope you ate something later today."

"He didn't" answered L for him. "He just asked tea. I figured he wasn't hungry and left it that way."

"I'm fine" protested Light, wrenching his wrist from his friend's hold. "It's not like I'm able to keep something in my stomach these days, anyway."

"But you still have to eat, or you're going to collapse." Mikami's voice was serious, his eyes narrowed.

"I will not collapse, trust me. Not before I find my son" retorted Light, his lips pressed together.

L watched the two of them, then sighed. He went to the food chart situated in a corner and took a bowl, filled with sugar cubes. He settled it on the table in front of Light, who looked at him questioningly.

"It seems you're too worried to eat, and the situation will not change until you find your son. We're close, but you need energy, So, sugar."

"It's not healthy, he needs proteins and-" started Mikami.

"And he will begin to eat regularly after we find the child."

The doctor and the detective stared at each other until the former relented and retreated grumpily to the couch, trying to find a spot Beyond hadn't claimed. Light chewed on a sugar cube, cringing at the sweetness, before clearing his throat.

"Before all this, I was going to explain why I know the agent's company."

"We're listening" assured L, sitting down again in his chair.

"I didn't think about it before, but there was no way that someone outside me, Mikami, Beyond and my team could have known about Near. He never went to school – too boring for him, it seems – and he almost never goes out, so it's not common knowledge I have a son. It's in my records, of course, but those are not open to the public. But I made a health insurance also for him, of course, at the company I made mine."

"The Kijituru company" concluded L, turning around and typing quickly on his computer.

"Yes. You should check the background of the agents working for Kijituru in those hospitals, maybe someone has a motive for killing children, or something like that."

Names scrolled up the detective's screen. "There are ten agents in the area, every one of them dealing with a certain hospital. Then, there's their superior, who does the same work but in a larger scale. He seems to be a regular in the hospital of the Child Eater area."

"It must be him."

"It seems to be. His background is quite fitting actually. Ten years ago his fifteen years old son died for a cancer to the liver. He needed a transplant, but he didn't seem to be urgent, so his application was moved further down the list."

"He died?"

"Yes. The situation worsened overnight and he died before they could obtain a liver. The wife killed herself a week after. He started working for the Kijituru company soon after."

"It's him then."

"Yes. But we can go arrest him without proof" muttered L, chewing on his thumb. "All we have are substantial proofs, and if we interrogate him he might not tell us where he's keeping the children. Without them, he would be free in 48 hours."

"Then you have to think about places" said Beyond's voice, rough from sleep. The man shook his head, and stretched, forgetting that his resting place was a narrow couch and not a bed. He tumbled down, hitting the ground with a groan of pain.

"What you mean?" asked Light, his body coiled with tension.

"Well, where he's keeping the children? In his house? It seems too risky to me. Maybe he has a propriety he doesn't use often."

"It's good to see that sometimes you can be a genius too" wondered L, turning around and checking the suspect's file.

Beyond sputtered, his red eyes incredulous. "What? It's thanks to me we even have a suspect, you stupid panda!"

"How very mature of you, brother mine" retorted L, not even looking at him and ignoring the man's low curses. "It seems you're right, anyway. He has a warehouse to his name, apparently used to store the company's old equipment."

"Then we go" said Light, jumping to his feet and putting on his jacket, checking his gun. "We can send the suspect's information to my team, who can interrogate him, while we go to the warehouse."

"It would technically be illegal, since we don't have a warrant" remarked L, but too he stood up, going to a cabinet and retrieving a little leather pouch, a torch and a gun. Mikami and Beyond were already out of the door to fetch Wammy.

Light scoffed, pocketing a handful of sugar cubes. "Like that threat could keep me away from my son."

* * *

Adrenaline pumped through his veins, almost making his head dizzy. He was grateful for the rush of energy, knowing that without it, he wouldn't be able to walk. He also knew that once all this was over, he would collapse. He tried not to think about it.

"The area seems clear" murmured L, his back leaning against the concrete wall, listening to the comm placed in his ear.

Light almost regretted not taking one for himself. If he had, he would have been able to hear Watari's informations, but he could not do anything know. He focused, shaking slightly his head, his eyes flying around, checking the fortunately empty street and the dark corners, his ears straining to hear every single sound in the winter night. His muscles were coiled, ready to attack, incapacitate, even kill, in order to reach his goal. He didn't like using violence, but he couldn't ignore the scalding coil of _fury_ that had settled in his higher stomach, ready for revenge. He would get his son back. Everything else didn't matter.

"Then we should move" he said, leaving the refuge the building had offered and walking out in the open, swift and silent feet almost trotting on the asphalt, bringing him closer to the warehouse's metal doors. He reached them, eyes and ears always alert, and waited for L to crouch next to him, reaching for his pocket and taking out a leather pouch. Inside, delicate-looking metal bars gleamed briefly in the lamppost's light, before L's long fingers sorted through them, quickly choosing the right ones and using them to fiddle with the lock.

"Beyond's in position?" Light asked, hands tightening on his gun, keeping it lowered and towards the ground, ready to act at the first sign of wrongness.

"Yes, he and Mikami covered the other exit" L's smooth baritone answered, rolling around him and weighing almost physically on his spine, the familiar tone making him relax instinctually. He had probably been too explicit, because dark fathomless eyes looked up at him, their depths murky with something _that Light shouldn't really think about right now_.

They looked at each other for what felt like hours, until L turned his head and they both heard a soft _click_. After the detective pocketed his sticks, they both took a slow breath, counted to three and then pushed the doors open, the shrieking sound echoing through the night.

Twin orbs of light danced in the dark space, lighting up the warehouse's interior. Big boxes sat around, piled on each other, forming huge towers and walls, creating a way through. Light exhaled, listening intently, before making his way inside, closely followed by L's comforting figure. The air reeked of dust and coldness, a slight scent of disinfectant lightening the heavy smells.

Everything was silent. They moved like ghosts in the dark, their torchlights making things appear. There was no sign of man.

They explored every corner of the warehouse, but everything seemed abandoned. There was dust everywhere, their feet leaving footprints on the floor. Light examined them, frowning.

"If someone had been here, there should be similar footprints, however faded they might be" whispered L, his hot breath brushing against Light's frozen ear and warming it up.

"Unless they covered them somewhat. Could we have stepped on them by accident?" he asked, checking intently the floor, following their itinerary backwards.

"It's possible, we didn't look at the floor before" asserted L, keeping a lookout around them. He whispered some instruction in the comm, that crackled lightly in the silence before stopping.

Light strained his eyes, looking at the two clear set of footprints. He walked slowly towards the way they had come, checking every smudge in the dust.

It was near the entrance doors that he saw. Right were they had stepped on, there was a smudge, that seemed to turn right towards a heavy looking box. He pointed the torchlight, motioning at L to take a look.

The box had been moved backwards and not put into place correctly, its edge not corresponding to the edges of its dust tracks on the floor.

"Allow me" said L, walking forward and leaning his back against the box. He almost fell backward, the thing sliding effortlessly until it met the wall.

The light revealed a metal trapdoor etched in the ground, its corners blending in the background. They noticed it only pointing both torchlights in the right angles at the floor.

Light looked at his companion, feeling L's stare etching in his skin and giving him strength without having to ask.

The other knew him so well that words weren't needed.

It was the moment to open that thing and face what they would find inside.

* * *

*I searched names of hospitals in Tokyo, and selected four randomly. For the matter of health insurance, I know that most of what I've written is bullshit. Bear with me.

** Ok, here I just came up with names. They're actually gibberish (I hope ._. I just put together random letters and hoped for the best).


	9. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:**

Ok, I'm sorry for the lateness.

School is a bitch.

Anyway, this chapter is shorter than the others, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

* * *

Darkness greeted them, the grating sound of the trapdoor echoing in the shadows.

A strange smell reached their noses, a mix of stale air and unwashed bodies.

Light's heart jumped in his throat. Was it the right place? Was he at the end of that horrible story? Did he find his son at last? Was he okay?

A thousand questions rolled inside his brain.

A click, and L's torchlight was lightening the darkness, showing an old, rusty, unstable-looking metal ladder leading down. They could clearly see the concrete floor at the end of it, but nothing more.

They looked at each other, L's eyes resolute and steady. That simple gaze seemed to anchor him, giving him the stability he needed. He squared his shoulders, clenched his jaw and, grasping firmly the ladder's edges, he started to climb down, trying to ignore the pieces of rust and old metal sticking to his skin. Going down, the air seemed to get colder and more humid.

The silence was deafening.

Light took a stuttering breath, the sound of his shoes clanking against the concrete almost startling him.

Behind him, the ladder shook, and L's white shirt reflected brightly the light of the torch, before he pointed it on the area around him. He exhaled, and leaned back a little when he felt L's chest almost touch his back, basking in the warmth for a second before he focused on the scene before him.

The room was almost as large as the warehouse above it, the floor bare and the walls painted a claustrophobic grey. There were two metal tables at one end, covered with black rolls of trash bags and ropes, tissues and plastic gloves- a few vials caught his attention, the syringes next to them making him shudder.

His eyes moved to the left, and focused on two chairs, situated one in front of the other, three meters of distance between them.

Wide sunken brown eyes were staring fearfully straight at him, their owner sitting in one of the chairs, his two thin body bound by ropes. He had probably struggled, judging by the state of his arms and clothes.

In a detached way, Light tore away his gaze. He didn't care about that boy, no matter how bad that sounded.

He cared about his _son_.

The boy on the other chair was as silent as the first, but unlike him he wasn't staring at Light. The delicate head was leaning forward, pale chin resting against a white pajamas-covered chest, breathing shallow and barely hearable in unconsciousness.

Light's heart skipped a beat, and he rushed forward, forgetting about the situation. Some part of him would later argue that he had been perfectly aware of L's ability to take care of anyone he might have missed in the room. But in that moment he didn't _care_.

He brushed white strands out of his son's face, one hand searching for something to cut the ropes with inside his pocket.

He was so worried. Near's skin was as pale as death itself and cold as ice, despite his burning forehead, and his breathing was horrible. He found the pocket knife he always took with him and made a swift job of the ropes, throwing them away, before carefully lifting his son's body in his arms.

He was lighter than he remembered, and he was shivering in his sleep, instinctually trying to burrow deeper in Light's embrace in order to better bask in that additional body warmth.

Light became distantly aware of the crackling intercom in his ear and the rushed voices behind him. Then a lean and strong hand clasped him around his forearm, guiding him towards the ladder and then up to the warehouse.

All Light could focus on was his son's body in his arms, the faint heartbeat he could feel against his chest, the shivers that wracked that slim frame and the coldness in his limbs.

He distantly wondered when he had wrapped his coat around Near, and if the numbness he felt was to be attributed to the December air hitting his body.

When hands seemed to reach for Near, he came back to himself, turning around and almost growling. He vaguely recognized Wammy's concerned face.

"Don't touch him" he snarled, pushing Near more firmly against his body.

Panic flittered in his mind. They couldn't take him. He had just found him, they couldn't take him away.

More voices, the sound of a car roaring away from the warehouse. Them warm hands were on his shoulders, guiding him towards another car and a low soothing voice started talking in his ear, telling him that all was okay.

Light got in the car. Focused on his son.

Nothing else mattered.

* * *

The ride back to the hotel was a blur in Light's memories.

He had sat there, in the warm car, with his son's cold body in his lap and L's warm presence against his side, a silent pillar of strength to lean on.

He remembered watching that pale face twitch in a grimace, and pale grey eyes flutter open briefly, almost too tired to move properly.

He remembered the sharp relief he had felt hearing that familiar voice, despite the crooked and raspy sound of it.

"Mother?" his son had whispered, grey orbs flickering around before settling down, apparently too tired to focus on his surroundings.

Light had barely registered the stiffening of the body against his side, his sole attention focused on reassuring his son.

"It's alright" he had murmured soothingly, running his fingers gently through white strands of hair. "You're safe. You can rest now."

His son had stared briefly into his eyes, before closing his own.

The car had kept on weaving through Tokyo's streets.

* * *

L's gut had never failed him.

Even in the most difficult cases, he always had this _feeling_ , this gut intuition, that leads him to the right answers.

He always knew when a clue was important. His senses would tingle, warning him that that thing he had just read, heard, seen, was _important_.

When Wammy had said that thing about Near's photo, about the strange resemblance between the boy and L, the detective had almost dismissed the words, thinking them the insane rambling of an old man (yes, he knew he was unfair with Wammy – the man was bearable and fairly intelligent most of the time). But something inside him had told him to instead _remember_ those words. It often meant that they would become relevant at a later date.

The results of the researches he had made about Light's new identity had also left him quite baffled. His records were clean, of course, and everything was in order, but around Near things seemed to be a little off. His birth hadn't been registered in any American hospital or similar, and his birth certificate had appeared out of thin air.

It wasn't also reported the name of the mother, and the space had been left blank for twelve years.

He had thought nothing of it. The bit about the hospital was a little strange, of course, but he supposed there were still people that preferred to give birth at home, so there was that. And maybe the mother hadn't wanted the baby, and had agreed to give birth to him only if Light took him away and didn't connect him with her in any way.

But those were suppositions.

There were various possible explanations, so he had let go. Besides, he trusted Light.

He knew the other wouldn't actually _steal_ a baby or something.

Thinking about it, he had been surprised to hear that _Light_ of all people had a son. The other had never expressed the wish of fatherhood.

Not that they had talked about that sort of things.

Being gay (L surely was – but who needs labels anyway? - and Light had had a son, so maybe he was bi?) wasn't favorable to parenthood. There was adoption, of course, but it was complicated and...

He was rambling.

Anyway, he had been surprised to hear that Light had a son.

But when he had seen Light again, he had seen a father worried sick for his son. There was love in those worried golden eyes. A lot of it.

For a few moments, watching Light work himself to the ground in order to find his son, he had entertained the idea of being jealous.

It had lasted the totality of 1.5 seconds before he had scoffed.

He couldn't be jealous of his ex-lover's son. That was just... absurd.

He had never liked kidnappings – the only cases of that type he took were the ones with important figures involved, those he thought worthy, not _children_ – because they usually ended up badly. He was emotionally detached from his work, he had to be, but that didn't mean he wasn't _human_.

But when Light had _ordered_ his help in his son's kidnapping, he had obliged.

In those two days he had often wondered about his motives.

Was it loyalty? He had loved Light (he still did, whispered a voice in a corner of his mind), maybe he felt _responsible_ in some way for his kid?

Or there was a more obscure motivation, a rational one? Being Light a very bright and sharp man, any offspring of his might have the potential of being great as, or greater than, the father. So maybe he had felt the need to investigate in order to gain an asset, a possible successor worthy of his legacy.

L didn't know.

He didn't even think his motives mattered, like it didn't matter the problem of missing clarifications in Near's files.

He _wanted_ to help Light find his son, and no matter the potential the kid might have, he wasn't going to take Near away from his father.

He wasn't that cruel.

So he had thought that he would be okay not knowing those things.

But what he had heard in the car, soon after Near's rescue...

It had opened the figurative can of worms.

Why had the child called Light 'mother'? Didn't he know that light was male?

 _Of course he knew_. Near had lived with the man for twelve years, he was his father. Maybe the fever had confused the child? Being Light the only apparent parent figure in the kid's life, the man had probably had to fill in the motherly part of the equation, so maybe Near sometimes got confused...

No, that wasn't it.

It was difficult to confuse an obviously male father figure with a female one (one part of L's brain wondered if Light had ever cross-dressed... the rational part of his mind rapidly decided that it was not relevant and shut down the thought before L could get side-tracked...).

And Near seemed like a smart kid, judging by Light's and Beyond's descriptions (and Hell knew how hard it was to gain Beyond's respect).

So he didn't know what to think.

L shook his head, careful not to disturb Light's contemplation of Near.

No, there was something else going on.

A secret. One he was _so_ going to figure out.

Near should have gone to the hospital. The kid was obviously sick, and L couldn't understand why Light had refused the option so vehemently.

That was suspicious.

Mikami, a _doctor_ , had supported his decision.

Highly suspicious.

Beyond hadn't protested, he had just kept on cooing over his nephew's asleep form.

 _They all knew something_. Not knowing was maddening.

In the end, despite Wammy's grandfatherly worry and L's advice, Light's decision had won (three against two, he _hated_ democracy). Mikami had checked the boy's condition, diagnosed a light pneumonia and advised a warm bath and a lot of rest.

He and Beyond had then left to pick up some pills at the nearest pharmacy.

L was still uncomfortable with letting his twin brother walk away without supervision. Beyond _was_ a murderer, after all. And he wasn't thinking about the other infractions the man had done in his travels.

L watched Light keenly, his thoughts concerned over the auburn-haired man. They had found Near, so Light wasn't worried sick anymore (unless over the pneumonia, of course), and the tiredness seemed to be catching up with him. He had deduced, judging by his looks and Mikami's concerned arguments, that it was more or less a fortnight that Light didn't sleep properly, and exhaustion was etched in every line of his body, from his tense shoulders to his slightly shuffling feet. But the man was nothing if not stubborn, and he was decided to bathe his son himself.

L considered. The other had protested vehemently against someone else touching his son. He had also mentioned distractedly that the kid had some kind of OCD, or something like that, he couldn't remember correctly. Maybe that was why he hadn't allowed Near to be touched. The kid would probably get distressed if he knew that a stranger had touched him. And Light didn't seem able to lie to his son at all.

So L helped a slightly stumbling Light towards the bathroom, trying to aid him without touching the added weight of the child's unconscious body.

Wammy had already filled the tub, and steam clung to the white tiles and cloaked the mirror, rendering it useless.

Near's clothes were quickly disposed of, the pile of dirty pajamas pushed in a forgotten corner to be picked up later. Near's usually flawless skin was otherwise marred by red bruises – rope burns, L's brain uselessly classified – on the small wrists and soft arms, and a couple of bruises had blossomed over the sides – nothing serious, Mikami had said -.

"If you want to wash him, you should take off your upper clothes" L offered in a low voice.

Light was still clothed in his wrinkled suit, the tie dangling haphazardly from his neck. If the man had to reach out inside the tub, he would get wet very quickly.

Light had just nodded, and after settling down Near gently in the tub (wetting his cuffs, of course), began to undress.

L tried not to stare. He really did. He knew that wasn't the right time to ogle the other man, with his son being sick and him being drop dead tired, but he couldn't help himself.

With more golden skin revealed, his desire to _touch_ , to _feel_ Light under his palms grew exponentially. His eyes seemed stuck on the sinuous line of strong shoulders, tonic arms and slim waist.

Then he saw it.

L froze, barely registering Light's movement towards the tub. Distant sounds of water being splashed around reached his ears, but he couldn't move. He was still frozen, the image of what he had seen stuck before his eyes.

Rationally, he knew there were more plausible explanations, but...

Could it be?

How could it possibly be true?

However...

He moved in autopilot, helping Light dry Near (still not touching the boy) and tuck him to bed. He bid the other goodnight, and retreated to the sitting room.

Three hours later, sitting in his chair, he still couldn't get the image of the scar on Light's belly out of his mind.


	10. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:**

I wanted to publish this chapter yesterday, but Christmas took all my time.

Anyway, best wishes to everyone!

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

One second he was asleep, and the second after he was awake, startled golden eyes flickering around the dark room. He didn't know what time of the day it was, or even the day itself. Heavy curtains were draped over the windows, allowing only little streams of light to peak in the room and letting him see the edges of things. If the light was natural or artificial, he didn't know.

He was tired, his limbs felt heavy and his mind was sluggish at best.

He probably looked very dumb, lying there, under the covers, wide eyes blinking in the shadows. Light swallowed. He had the distinct impression that _something_ had crawled in his mouth while he slept and died there.

Yes, the taste on his tongue felt _that_ unpleasant.

He blinked again. What had awoken him? He hadn't been dreaming (the rational voice in his mind – _God_ , how could it be that awake if it was a part of him and he currently felt brain-dead? - argued promptly that _of course_ he had dreamed, the actual process had probably taken up to ten minutes in a REM phase, and _of course_ his mind had replayed the delirious images, he just didn't remember them because he was _tired_ ) but something had phased him from unconsciousness to consciousness suddenly.

What was it?

Something vibrated on the nightstand next to him, startling him so badly he jostled his son's head from his shoulder, making the boy whine in his sleep and roll over, a pale figure between equally white sheets. A second after, the phone started ringing, piercing the silence with its sharp tones.

Light became a blur of movements: he was lying in bed, and then he had grabbed the device, silencing the noise with a button (but not rejecting the call) and walking towards the bathroom's door, only stumbling a bit when dizziness caught him, black spots dancing in front of his eyes, punishing him for moving too quickly. He glanced back at the bed, making sure that he hadn't awoken Near – the image of his child nestled between big pillows and blankets in a white-on-white composition made him smile, warmth curling in his chest – before he closed the door, finding himself alone in the privacy of the bathroom. He moved forward to sit on the counter, silently marveling at the warm room. Bathrooms were always _cold as Hell_ , but there he felt pleasantly at ease.

The phone was still vibrating in his hand, showing the stubbornness of the caller. He watched the name on the screen, sighing. He knew he had to talk with the man, he had just hoped the confrontation would come later in time.

He clicked a button and brought the device to his ear.

"River" he rasped, wincing slightly at his parched throat.

"How's Near?" Aizawa's familiar voice crackled in his ear. Light could feel the man shift in what probably was his office's chair, shuffling some paper, the other rumors of the police station merging in the background in a chaotic mess.

"He's not in the best shape, but he'll be fine. Nothing serious. How's the other boy?"

"He'll be fine too. He's currently being smothered to death by his worried family."

"Good."

Silence. A sigh from the other end of the line. Light slouched backwards, his back leaning against the tepid mirror (really, how could they have heated a mirror?!).

 _Here it comes_ , he thought bitterly. But he still didn't regret his actions.

"You know we have to talk" his boss said, reluctance clearly heard despite the disturbance sounds in the line.

"I know what you have to say."

"I know you know, but I'll say it anyway. It's my duty." the man shifted again, the sound of the groaning of the leather chair crackling in the speaker. "You went against the orders I gave you, you went over my authority and that of my Chief and acted on your own without consulting with us firs. Your contacted _L_ , and led a rescue mission without permission. Your actions could have endangered the hostages. I know you were worried about your son," another sigh, more shifting in the chair. "but what you did is unforgivable. Actions like the ones you have taken _always_ result in imprisonment, the years changing according to the gravity of the offense. My Chief wanted to throw you in jail. I convinced him to reconsider."

"Thank you, sir." Light's gratitude was sincere. It was difficult to run away and hide when the law was looking for you. It was _problematic_ to change identity and fade in the shadows when your face was being broadcasted worldwide.

"Don't thank _me_. Thank your flawless records. This doesn't mean you're unscathed, though."

"I'm fired, sir?"

Silence, a sigh.

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"I have to answer to my actions."

Aizawa fell silent again. Then laughed shortly, a small bout of hilarity crackling in the speaker.

"I have the feeling that losing your job didn't faze you in the least, am I right?" he asked, his voice having lost the previous formality and adopting a more jovial and warm undertone. Aizawa didn't wait for an answer. "Have you already picked up the place you're going to disappear to?"

The question caught Light by surprise, and he frowned, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me, _Raito_. It would not be the first time you disappeared without a trace."

Light sat there on the counter, speechless.

"H-How?" he managed to stutter, surprised.

He had been careful! He had never mentioned anything he shouldn't have know, he had befriended the officers like they were strangers, faked perfectly his ignorance of Japanese customs and Tokyo's layout. How could Aizawa _know_ about his past identity?

"I knew who you were from the moment I saw you." Light could practically _see_ the smile on his ex-boss's face. "Your face structure was always Sachiko's, but your mannerisms reminded me of Soichiro. And those eyes." The man chuckled. "Even young as you were when we met for the first – and last – time, those eyes were piercing and clever and so _golden_. Those were – still are – not eyes someone could forget, Raito."

"Why did you not say anything?"

"Would you have liked me to?" Light remained silent. "I thought so. I was at the crime scene, and when we didn't find you I personally went to Hell and back trying to find you." Aizawa sighed, his voice low and sad. "And when time passed, I convinced myself that you were fine. You were a terribly smart kid, and you would be okay. That was my conviction." The man paused, hesitated, then started talking again. "I won't ask questions, and I don't want to pry, but... you were okay, right?"

Light wetted his lips and blinked. Had he been okay? … No, he hadn't been. He hadn't been hurting, because he had _forgotten_ that there was someone to hurt for, but... that hadn't freed him. That blank spot in his mind had tormented him, reminding him that there was _something_ he had no access to. Something of _his_.

"... Yes, I was okay." he said in the end, not feeling guilty in the slightest when the other man sighed in relief. They exchanged some other pleasantries, and hung up.

That would be the last time they would hear from each other.

Light walked back in the bedroom, feeling exhaustion begin to pull again at his eyelids. He shuffled in the dark, found the bed, and crawled back in.

He draped himself all around his son, engulfing the smaller frame between his body and the covers, pulling them higher and more over them when he felt Near shiver.

His nose buried in white strands, breathing in the clean scent of soap and talc, he relaxed, closing his eyes and welcoming back sleep.

Sometimes the truth hurt. Sometimes, it was better to lie, to avoid discussions, to hide and bury facts and emotions until all that was left was what you wanted to show to the world.

Honesty, sometimes, was a luxury that Light couldn't afford.

* * *

Near blinked. The soft murmur of voices drifting from one of the closed doors had woken him gently from the grey blank unconsciousness that his sleep had been – hours of it, he could gather from the heavy weight in his eyelids and limbs, the lazy lethargy that hampered his thoughts -.

He _hated_ sleeping. His brain always seemed to tangle in imaginary chains, scattering parts of itself in various corners of his skull. The real problem was the awakening. His thoughts were sluggish and half-formed and just so _slow_.

Near kicked the covers off himself, in a rare show of childish resentment.

He knew he was sick. He could _feel_ the warmth coming from his body, the coldness of his skin, the shivers that caught him in the strangest moments.

He felt cold. But under the covers it was entirely too _warm_.

It was the covers' fault, of course.

The real culprits.

Could covers go to prison? There should be a special Blanket Commission to incarcerate guilty covers, and a special prison for Incorrigible Bed-sheets...

His head lolled to the side, white strands of hair fluttering over his eyes, mixing with equally snowy eyelashes.

A field of snow. Maybe he could profit from it, build a resort and welcome ski fanatics to enjoy the snow and they would pay and with the money he could...

Near blinked. Tried to stand. Fell back down on the bed.

Oh dear, had they _drugged_ him?

He tried to stand up again. His balance seemed to be screwed, but after wobbling a bit he managed to remain upright. He turned his head.

His mother was sleeping between the covers, curled towards the place Near had been in few minutes before. Auburn hair was sprawled all over the pillow, and bits of tanned skin showed in places where he had moved the covers.

The murmur of voices continued to attract him out of the room.

He padded silently forward to the door, leaning his hear against the wood. The voices – vibrations, sound waves moving through the air aided by the rotation of molecules, his brain suggested – were too distorted and low to make out, but he was sure he had heard his name among unintelligible words.

Or, what he thought was his name. Near was a common word in the English language, after all, and he wasn't sure the people out there were talking English or Japanese.

His cold hand curled around the door's handle, the cold metal feeling hot compared to his higher body temperature. The screeching sound it made when he turned it made him cringe. He turned his head quickly, but his mother had just shifted and rolled, stretching out on his back.

Near's eyes flickered to the raised white scar on that golden abdomen, looking almost _normal_ among the lean muscles and profiles of bones.

He had always been fascinated by it. How could a _man_ give _birth_?

It was possible, of course, since he was alive and kicking, but... the mechanics of it? Males' physiology didn't _allow_ for these kind of things to happen.

Then how had his mother...?

Near had asked Mikami, once. He had been... seven, could it be? Anyway, he had asked his 'family doctor' – the term was more appropriate than ever with Mikami, since the man _was_ family -, because with his knowledge of biology and medicine he hadn't been able to _explain_ the phenomenon. And all he had read couldn't _compare_ with Mikami's knowledge.

So he had asked. All he had learnt was that Mikami didn't know. That Near's existence, and successful birth, had been a miracle.

From that day on, that scar on his mother's belly had been like a relic, something sacred to be admired and cherished.

Near stared at it, then walked out and closed the door softly behind him.

The voices were clearer now. He followed them through a short hallway, and he entered the living room, stealthy and silent as a ghost, clutching the sheet he had wrapped around him like a shield.

Not like he really thought that a _bed-sheet_ could _shield_ him. Or that there was something he had to be shielded against.

Near frowned. He had been kidnapped, of course, and held prisoner for two weeks. A normal child his age would have ended up traumatized. He was not. His mind felt calm and collected – if not a little sluggish from that damned sleep – and his emotions were as clear as ever.

Who needed normality? He was the opposite of normal. Since the moment he was born, if not conceived.

"... and Mikami said that the guy tried to take his life. So this young officer – I don't remember his name..."

Beyond's red eyes glinted in the morning's sun, the light making them seem like burning embers. He was sprawled in one of the armchairs, limbs thrown around like a starfish, clothes messy and dark hair all over the place.

In front of him was another man, sitting on the other chair like a frog. His eyes were dark and his hair even darker. He would have seemed Beyond In Black, if not for the _air_ around him. He had a certain feeling of authority and confidence and don't-mess-with-me aura, that made him _glorious_.

No one, looking at him and seeing his strange mannerisms and looks and _perceiving_ his presence, could think of him like a freak. No one with half a brain, anyway.

"Anyway, this young office – the clumsiest I have ever seen, I swear..."

"Matsuda."

Two sets of eyes, one red, one charcoal black, turned to him. Both of them seemed to be analyzing him, set on discovering his every weakness.

If they found them, would they use them against him?

Near knew they wouldn't.

"The officer you were talking about is Matsuda" Near said, walking forward and crawling on the empty couch in front of the armchairs, curling up against the pillows.

"You were saying?" he questioned, idly.

Beyond looked at him with a loop-sided smile. "The police caught your kidnapper. I was saying that he almost committed suicide, but that officer Matsuda handcuffed him before he could do anything. At the Station he confessed everything."

"He was desperate, and alone. Of course he would have tried suicide."

The other man's eyes seemed to settle on him more firmly. "What makes you say that?"

Beyond got to his feet, stretching before skipping towards the door, a big smile on his face. "... and this is where I leave. Nephew, L's going to assess you. Be how you always are. You'll be great."

"I don't need your input." said Near, at the same time that L said "I'm not going to _assess_ him!"

The only answer was the soft sound of the door closing behind Beyond.

Near and L stared at each other. Silence stretched between them, but Near didn't find it uncomfortable. Those piercing eyes didn't feel hostile or threatening. They were calm, self-assured without a hint of arrogance.

Tension he hadn't noticed was there slipped from his shoulders, and Near settled more firmly against the pillows, fingers rising up to reflexively curl a strand of hair around them.

"What is your opinion on your kidnapper?" L asked, leaning against the back of the armchair in a more relaxed pose. "From your statement earlier, it seems like you had enough interactions with the subject to formulate a deduction."

That smooth baritone was professional but not formal, straight to the point but not cold. When the press had talked about the Great Detective, it had made him seem like a cold-blooded robot, capable of great intelligence but faulty in emotions (how the reporters had come to that conclusion, Near didn't know. It wasn't like anyone _knew_ the Detective, so to formulate speculations on the base of the cases' outcomes was ludicrous).

He had never agreed to that description. Instead, he had listened to his mother's reluctant stories, about a brilliant man who donned a mask in front of the world, who was not indifferent but was capable of emotionally difficult rational decisions when needed.

 _This_ image of L had seemed to him the closest to the possible truth, because despite any problem he may have in that sector, Near understood that in life emotions were _necessary_.

Especially in catching criminals.

He was happy that his mother's words had been the truth, and not the sugar-coated stories that mothers often said to their children about their missing fathers.

Not that he was comparing his mother to a whiny female*.

"I did not _interact_ with the man, seeing as he wasn't keen to talking with his prisoners. But on his figure were quite telling clues."

The right corner of L's mouth curled a tiny bit up, and his eyes seemed even more focused, if that was even possible. "Oh? Do tell."

Near looked at him. He _knew_ that the other man had noticed the details he was talking about, and he _knew_ he was being tested.

He also knew that he would _pass_. One of the things his mother had taught him since a young age was self-confidence (if there were the right motives to have it, of course. Too much pride – unjustified pride even more – was known to bring even the most powerful human being to their knees).

"His clothes were elegant but not new, several years old, and not ironed. Also his general untidiness was a big clue of the fact that he was alone. No one – a wife, a companion – was there to make him do the _effort_ of looking smart. Also the timing."

"Timing?" L asked, tilting his head. His smile was more evident, his eyes half-lidded.

"He visited often, at different hours. It would mostly be at night, or at odd times. Alone. No one was there to be suspicious of his movements."

Near blinked, yawned. After a brief nod from the other, he continued.

"Despite his general untidiness, I had noticed that he had been very careful in his murders. There was no evidence, no traces. He _really_ didn't want to be found. So, he had a goal. A goal so important that when the PD leaked my deductions about the black market, he took a risk and kidnapped two children at once, _without killing them immediately_. He needed to keep on murdering. A goal. Not money, because if he had gained something from his sales at the black market – and organs are very expensive, so there was a lot of money to gain – he would have fixed his appearance. Not too much, in order not to catch too much attention, but a little bit. He didn't. So, not money. He wasn't apparently gaining _anything_ from murdering those children, so why sell their organs in the market? His goal. To do a twisted good action, to make a _point_ by helping others. Maybe because no one helped him when he needed it? And his mistake – kidnapping two children at once, keeping them alive in the faint chance that the PD might drop the man hunt out of fear. An act of petty revenge, that if he had thought more about it he would have seen it for what it was. A mistake, and his desperation acting out."

Near's throat felt sore. He never talked much to begin with, and after two weeks of silence this little speech of his had scratched his throat, making him wince.

"I'm impressed."

L was smiling, a satisfied expression on his face. His long fingers dipped in the container on the table next to the armchairs, drawing out a handful of sugar cubes. "Light had said that you were smart, but you surprised me. Age is not generally indicative of IQ levels, but even I, at your age, wasn't so _focused_ in my deductions." the man chewed the glittering cubes, the crunching sound echoing in the room. Near found the sound oddly funny, instead of his usual annoyance. "What most of all astounded me was the circumstance. You were kidnapped by a murderer, you had seen the crime scenes' photos, so you _knew_ what the man wanted to do to you. Despite all this, and your captivity, you managed to assess the subject and deduct extremely rational, and right, informations. I'm impressed."

Near was not a stranger to praise. Being smart had gained him the admiration of the few people he had had contact with, and the words had since lost any meaning to him.

He _knew_ he was smart.

But his _father_ 's words, they reached him in a way that other's had not. His chest felt wonderfully warm, and he was sure his usually pale cheeks were sporting a suffused blush.

Had he always had a desire for his absent father's words of praise, and he had never realized?

He knew that children sought their parent's approval, but he had never seen himself as one of those.

Maybe he had been wrong.

"I'm good at locking down my emotions" he explained softly. "I can decide to feel _something_ or anything."

"It's useful" agreed L, his eyes pondering and roaming over Near's form with an expression the child couldn't pinpoint. "But dangerous. If we choose not to feel, what really makes us human?"

Silence settled around them.

They understood.

* * *

*nothing against women, eh. It's just that it would make sense that Near, grown up surrounded by extremely intelligent men, might seem women as irrational fools.


	11. Chapter 10

This site decided to be a jerk and not to let me update this story.

It was also the last chapter, damn it.

So, I've been trying for a day and a half and it just keeps on pissing me off, so fuck it. If someone wants to read the ending, you have to go to Ao3, where the chapter is already posted.

My username there is Vehuel, the story of course has the same name. You should find it easily.

I'm sorry for the bother, but it's the stupid site.

I'd still like to know what you think (if you go read the chap, of course).

Kudos to everyone,

V.


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